


Strollers, Strength and Serenity

by strive2bhappy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Mpreg, Schmoop, track: 20K
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 08:36:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2422193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strive2bhappy/pseuds/strive2bhappy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first, he's not sure what to think about his bizarre symptoms, but when the truth reveals itself, Sam embraces the insanity of it all, despite his doubt. From being on the road and hunting leviathans to an apartment near the only doctor that will help them, Sam and Dean learn about each other, their changing lives and how to accept and hold onto something they never knew they wanted, let alone believed was possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strollers, Strength and Serenity

**Author's Note:**

> I want to give a huge shout out to yohkobennington, the mod for spnmpregbb, for all of her patience with this challenge. she's an incredible person and really super nice, no matter what happens. it's a rare treat to work with someone like that. 
> 
> major thanks to vyperdd for taking a look at this. she stepped in at the last minute and was really awesome to me. seriously. 
> 
> this is pure domestic, mpreg schmoop. it really is teeth-rotting. sam is the one who's pregnant, but isn't always the bottom, in fact the sex includes bottom!dean and there's eventual mpreg!dean as well. everything with the show pretty much stops mid-to-late season seven. 
> 
> word count is about 25K.

At first, Sam just figured it was something he ate. They frequent some pretty skeevy places, so it wouldn't surprise him. 

Nausea would creep up on him, at odd times during the day. He'd find a place to get some crackers and ginger ale and keep going. 

Sure, he was tired more often than not, but that was a symptom of their life and usually not much else. 

The bloating was a little weird, considering he didn't eat much of anything, but he chalked that up to some type of stomach bug that he couldn't shake. 

Dean remarked on it once or twice when all Sam would order was soup or salad, but other than that, they just kept going. Hunting, helping people, trying to find a way to stop Dick Roman and the leviathans. 

**

"That is the stupidest word," Sam says, flipping a page of the Sumerian textbook in his lap. "It seriously drives me crazy."

Dean glances up from the barrel of the gun he's cleaning. "What? Gank?"

Sam feels like there's an itch under his skin that he can't scratch and he grits his teeth. "Yeah. It's not even a word, you know. It's ridiculous."

Dean's eyebrows climb almost to his hairline and he says, "What are you, the word police or something?"

"It's just really irritating, especially how often you use it," Sam says, thinking maybe if he started throwing punches and he and Dean had a go, it would calm this odd, rawness he felt inside. 

Dean packs up the weapons and heads out to the trunk. "Gonna get you some Midol there, Samantha.”

Sam turns the next page a bit brutally for the age of the book. 

**

"Again?" Dean asks when Sam gets up from the table. "Seriously?"

"I can't help it," Sam tells him. 

"Never knew coffee to go through you so fast." 

Sam rolls his eyes on the way to the library bathroom, his third trip since they arrived. "Shut up, Dean."

**

"Ouch, shit," Sam yelps when Dean pinches a nipple. He's used to fireworks when Dean plays with his nipples, not pain and tenderness. 

Dean stops instantly, both fingers and hips and glances up. "You okay?"

Sam tries to get back into it, to concentrate on the feel of his brother's wet cock alongside his own through their open zippers, the heat from the friction of their jeans rubbing together, the need he had a few seconds ago to get fucked to within an inch of his life, but something, something deep in his gut says this isn't right. 

"Sammy?" Dean asks, smoothing a hand along Sam's chest. "What?"

Sam shakes his head, keeps his eye on his brother's chin, doesn't want to worry Dean needlessly. "S'nothing."

Dean props himself up, both hands under Sam's armpits against the mattress. "The way you reacted isn't nothing."

Sam curls his fingers into Dean's hips, thumbs stuck in belt loops and leans up for a kiss, going for distraction. "You're just too good at this, that's all."

Dean pulls back far enough to narrow his eyes at Sam, but after a few seconds connects their mouths again. 

If Sam just flips him, gives his brother a sloppy blowjob to get out of the fucking they were headed for and Sam's too weirded out now to want, Dean doesn't complain. 

**

He's pulling his jeans on when it really hits him, this bizarre sense that's something's amiss. His zipper's awfully close to skin and it takes him three tries to hook the button -- he actually has to suck his tummy in a little. 

How could his stomach be growing when he barely eats enough to keep a bird alive? -- as Dean's taken to announcing at regular intervals during their meals.

He's suddenly scared -- heart racing, gut-clenching, fuck-that-harpie-just-took-a-chunk-out-of-Dean's-leg scared. He puts a hand against his cheek -- not hot at all, so no fever. Nausea rolls through him, but that's been a typical thing for so long now, he's almost gotten used to it. 

He's gotta pee again and thinks maybe it's a bladder infection. 

But that doesn't really explain the bloating -- and it doesn't burn when he pisses or anything. 

He's suddenly beyond petrified that it would be his luck to survive hunting and soullessness and hell and just get finally free of Lucifer only to be brought down by an incurable disease. 

Fuck. 

Dean flings open the door at that exact second and Sam doesn't have time at all to school his expression. 

"Sammy?" Dean's voice is laced with sheer terror. "What's wrong?"

Dean's got breakfast in a bag in his hand and the smell of grease floats across the room and Sam knows he's not gonna be able to hold onto what's left in his belly from last night's dinner. 

He's retching over the toilet, puking out the digested remains of the feeble grilled cheese sandwich he'd eaten hours ago and a whole lot of burning stomach acid when he feels Dean rubbing his sweaty back through his t-shirt. 

"Here," Dean says, as he's pulling Sam's hair away from his face. "I gotcha."

Sam's miserable. Eyes stinging, abdomen hurting, shaking, sweating, miserable. And he's so fucking scared. This isn't right. It so isn't right. 

He can't blame all of his tears on the acid in his throat. 

Sam's stomach settles as much as it's likely going to and he sits back and flushes the toilet. 

Dean helps him up, watches while he brushes his teeth and washes his face and sits him down on the bed. 

"Alright," Dean says, still standing, hovering next to, but not touching Sam. "Taxicab confession time, Sam. What's going on?"

Sam's chin trembles and his eyes water again -- emotions a swirling mass of confusion and fear and panic -- and he shrugs. 

"Huh uh," Dean almost growls. "No bullshit. Tell me."

"I...I don't really know," Sam whispers. "I don't f-feel right. Nauseous all the time and m'tired and I've always gotta pee…and now…when I p-put on my jeans, they're…almost too small…"

Dean sits across from him on the bed they use for the weapons and he's edgy, like he wants to get behind the wheel of the Impala and go after something, shoot something, exorcise something, but Sam's so fucking terrified this isn't something they can fight that he chokes back a sob. 

Sam sees exactly what he's feeling reflected in Dean's eyes for just a split second, but his brother takes a deep breath and seems to muster some source of strength. 

"Okay, listen," Dean's voice wobbles only slightly. "We'll figure this out, Sammy, you and me, okay?"

"But D-Dean," Sam starts. 

Dean shakes his head and gathers steam, "No. Here's what we're gonna do. I saw a free clinic in town--"

Sam jolts. 

Dean can't be serious. No no no no no no no. Sam's shaking his head somewhat spastically. 

It's too soon. He doesn't want to know. The denial might be awful, but knowing doesn't allow for hope. 

"Woah, Sammy," Dean reaches out, clamps onto Sam's knee. "Don't freak out, it'll be okay. Probably just a stomach bug or something," Dean confidence is a joke, but he's trying. "You've been like this for a few weeks and we should figure it out, so get your shoes on."

Sam's frozen on the bed. He doesn't think he can do this. 

Dean gets up and sits beside him, doesn't relinquish his grip on Sam's leg. His voice is quiet, but remarkably powerful when he leans forward a little, into Sam's space. "I need you to listen to me. We're going to the clinic to see what they think. Whatever it is, we'll deal with it, okay? You and me. Together. Like always."

And Sam's ten again, with the mumps and a neck that's huge and Dad seven states away and not returning any time soon and Dean's talking him through the story for the ER doctors before walking him into the hospital, only they're older now and responsible for themselves and have talked their way through so many medical facilities it's old hat by now, but they're still together. Like Dean said. Like always. 

Sam's so scared he's quivering, but he nods, stands up and gets his sneakers.

**

Sam's just grateful they didn't put him in a hospital gown. Those things never fit him and he hates how they make him feel awkward and too tall.

Small victories. That's what he's clinging to as he sits across from Dean in a white-washed room waiting for the results of his blood work to see if he's got some kind of stomach virus.

He hates being back in a medical setting. He’s still wrestling with memories of Lucifer exploding firecrackers in his head and changing his meat to maggots and the fact that, again, people in lab coats are poking and prodding him sets off that restless sensation in his blood.

He's picking at his cuticles and can't seem to stop bouncing his right leg. Dean hasn't said a word about the fidgeting, which just goes to show how distracted his brother must be.

As bad as it was when Lucifer was in his head, the reality of this tips the scale to worse. Because this could be some incurable disease. And their angel friend is strapped down to a bed, out of his mind with the traded-off Lucifer visions.

It's a little ridiculous that Sam's faced down wendigos and demons and angels and all matter of hell beast, sometimes without even blinking, but the cotton ball taped to the inside of his arm has him so scared he can't sit still.

When the young doctor abruptly swishes back through the door, Sam actually jumps.

In another life, another space, he might have found her attractive. She's smart and whipcord lean and very focused on his health and really seems to know her stuff, but he can't let go of the fact that the papers in her hand could hold his death sentence and at the moment, he doesn't like her at all.

He wants a few more seconds of ignorance. He wants to grab Dean and run. He wants to be anywhere but in this stupid place with these stupid people and the stupid watercolor paintings on the walls. 

It takes everything he has not to spit all that he's feeling out at the woman in front of him wearing the labcoat.

"Well, Mr. Pendleton," she starts, insanely calm for the situation. "Your labs came back relatively normal. Nothing here that sparks any kind of concern."

Sam frowns. He knows his body. He knows when something's not right.

"Seems to be a little bug you picked up somewhere. We're going to give you anti-nausea meds so you'll want to eat again. If you're not feeling back to normal in the next week, come on back in and we'll see what's developed."

Sam blinks, a little frantically, thoroughly confused. This can't be it. It's not this simple.

She huffs a little laugh -- an odd sound for her demeanor. "If it weren't for the fact that you're a guy, I'd almost swear you were pregnant."

There's a second of suspension, where breath and time seem to hang in the room. 

When Sam finally inhales, it rattles in his chest. 

He wants to laugh, but the sound gets stuck in his throat. 

That’s the dumbest thing he’s ever heard. He's a man. He doesn’t have the anatomy for a baby and besides, the doctor was being glib. She knows better. 

No way. There's no way. 

And yet.

And yet he has enough of a hazy understanding of what women go through in the early stages of pregnancy and everything fits. 

If nothing else came back in his bloodwork as a red flag, what else could it be? 

Something he ate that’s affected him for weeks? Food poisoning that brings a heaviness to his lower abdomen, but none of the resulting bathroom issues? Besides if it was food poisoning, wouldn’t he have a fever?

Thoughts swirl through his mind like leaves in the wind and he absently watches the doctor scribble randomly on different sheets of paper and for a stomach-turning second, he thinks her face is going to bleed into Lucifer. 

It’s gotta be that. A leftover of the hallucinations, just as vivid, just as real as all the others. 

He grabs his palm and shoves his thumb in hard. 

Not even a blink. The room stays the same, the doctor continues to scrape pen across paper and Dean hasn’t so much as shifted in his seat. 

Sam frowns. 

Even though he knows it’s insane and preposterous, as he sits in the uncomfortable plastic chair, something, some undefinable thing, shivers along his spine and his belly quivers slightly. 

As irrational and bizarre and impossible as it seems, an innate, instinctive knowledge blooms inside him and he knows, he just knows, he's got his explanation. 

Pregnant. 

He blinks. Rapidly. And absolutely refuses to look at Dean. 

They've run into some crazy shit over the years, but there's no way Dean will buy this. His brother lives in denial ninety percent of his life. This won't even register on the radar as a possibility.

Without really being conscious of what he's doing, he moves his right hand to his lower abdomen and cups the slight swelling just above his groin. 

A baby. 

His head spins. 

The doctor shuffles the papers on the table and stands and Sam tries to shake himself out of his stupor. 

She directs them to the exit and he thinks he thanks her but he can't be certain.

When she's gone, Sam knows he's got all of about three seconds to figure out how to react so that Dean doesn't suspect how seriously he's taking this whole thing. 

With a deep breath and a conviction he doesn't remotely feel, he claps his hands on his thighs and says, "Ready?"

Dean's eyes are narrow and Sam thinks, God, please let's not do this in the middle of the free clinic and some of that must translate onto his face because Dean nods slightly and moves to the door. 

It takes very little time to settle the paperwork and get the the anti-nausea meds and all the while, Sam can't keep his heart from nearly beating out of his chest. 

He only recognizes the basics. People. Colors. Doors. Papers. Lab coats. 

Nothing more substantial than that. 

He can't think beyond the next second. The next breath. 

By the time they walk back into the motel room, uneaten breakfast now congealing on the table, Sam wants to laugh. 

Rather hysterically. 

He wants to make it all a huge joke. 

Did you hear what she said? Pregnant. How fucking funny is that?

It's like the plot of a Chevy Chase comedy. 

Dean rattles the pill bottle and asks, "You wanna get the first dose in you? Maybe you'll feel like eating dinner later."

Sam almost nods -- just goes along with it all, like what the doctor said about a stomach bug is really the case -- but he thinks, what if the meds hurt the baby?

The urge to laugh bubbles up again, but he bites it down at the last possible second. "Think I'm gonna just lie down for a bit."

He doesn't make eye contact as he kicks off his sneakers and stretches out on the bed, facing the window, away from Dean. 

He knows it makes no sense. There's no logic or science or really any physical way it could be true, other than the fizzy feeling in his chest that tells him there's a baby in his belly. 

He rests his forearm across his stomach, and can't seem to think beyond the drab walls of the room and the off-white curtains that could use a good wash. 

He doubts he'll actually be able to rest, but the roller coaster events of the day have left him more exhausted than he realized and he drops into a relatively deep sleep. 

***

Later that evening they're at the diner down the street and Sam's trying to finish his mashed potatoes and meatloaf when the doors open and a family steps inside. 

It's a young couple and a little girl, probably no more than three, and for an instant, Sam stops chewing just to watch. 

It looks like a dance, how they move through the space, what booth they choose, where they sit and who gets what side and the fluid movements of the dad helping the little girl up onto the booth and sliding in next to her. Mom's got a smile on her face as the child scrambles to her knees to gain some height. 

It takes an inordinate effort for Sam to swallow the bite in his mouth. 

He glances across the table to Dean, who still has that pensive, almost knowing look when they make eye contact and Sam's eyes start to burn a little and he knows he’s never going to finish his meal because of the sudden fear.

Fear of how his body will even sustain a baby. Fear of how the hell he will give birth. Fear of the day he has to tell Dean what he suspects. Fear of losing his brother, the life he knows. Fear of never being able to keep the child safe. 

He leans back in the booth and gets caught up in the spiral of his own thoughts and it’s not until Dean taps his finger against the table that Sam jolts and reaches again for his fork, even though he has no intention of finishing his meal. 

“Did you take your meds?” Dean asks. 

Sam nods, even though he palmed them in his fist when Dean had passed them across the table. 

“Still don’t feel well?”

Sam shrugs. “Might be a while before I’m back on track.”

It takes a heartbeat or two, but Dean seems to buy that and tucks himself back into his chicken fried steak. 

Sam breathes and pushes his food around on his plate, still haunted by what ifs and how are we going to’s and the phantom feel of time ticking slowly toward the inevitable moment when he won’t be able to hide what’s really going on anymore. 

***

Sam’s used to keeping things from people. Hell, his whole life is centered around no one really knowing him or what he does. 

He’s got so many different fake IDs and fake personas and fake clothes that he has to remind himself who he really is so as not to get permanently lost in the performances. 

When he was a kid, deflecting questions like where’s your dad? and what happened to your mom? became second nature. 

Keeping those weird feelings he had for his brother under wraps was as natural as breathing. He knew when thoughts of Dean first started creeping into his masturbatory fantasies, it was likely just because of the close quarters and because Sam was a horny teenager, but eventually, when it became specific aspects of Dean himself, Sam knew there was way more to it. 

Jerking off under the covers thinking of his brother’s mouth just wasn’t normal. 

And wasn’t something he was about to make public. 

Hell, if it wouldn’t have been for that moment of real camaraderie after heaven’s green room, when Dean didn’t say yes to Michael, and they both synced up in their beliefs and plans and were just in tune with each other for the first time in what felt like so long -- and for some reason that meant Dean standing too close that night in the motel bathroom and Sam being so goddamn happy that Dean was still there, was still Dean, that he forgot about the self-imposed boundaries and kissed his brother, full on the mouth, no doubt it was more than fraternal -- if it wouldn’t have been for that, they wouldn’t be here right now. 

Jesus. 

He has to palm his stomach while the gratitude takes hold. Despite everything they’ve been through, he’s so fucking appreciative of his brother, for his brother, it takes his breath sometimes. 

And there’s a part of him that just wants to grab Dean’s hand, place it against his own belly and spill everything out between them. 

But there’s another part that worries it would be then end of them, so he knows he has to keep yet another secret. 

Still, dodging the issue shouldn’t be all that difficult. 

Only, it kind of is. 

A few nights after the visit to the clinic, they’re at a bar getting a quick bite and Dean slides into the booth after taking a college kid for a wad of cash in what looked like a comically easy game of pool and sets a beer in front of Sam. 

Shit. 

Sam stares at the brown bottle beside his laptop and searches for something, anything that will make sense here. He scrunches his face and shakes his head, “Not sure my stomach’s ready for that yet.”

Dean quirks an eyebrow and shrugs, pulls the beer over to his side and focuses his attention back on the crowd. 

Sam releases his breath slowly and clicks open a new browser page. 

That wasn’t that difficult. 

***

Four nights later, things get a little trickier. 

Dean’s been shuffling in the driver’s seat for the last few miles and he’s got that look in his eyes that always precedes a come on. 

It’s dark and they’re trying to make time, get to another case that Garth found for them and they’re still a state away. 

Despite all that, the car crunches over the gravel on the side of the road and Dean parks it.

He glances over at Sam, pats his own knee and says, “C’mere.”

It’s galling, really, that Dean thinks it’s that easy, even though a curl of warm swirls low in Sam’s groin. “You’re a real romantic, you know that?”

Dean huffs. “We’re on a schedule here, Sammy. How ‘bout we don’t argue. Just hop up here for a little bit.”

The thing is, Sam wants to. He really, really does. It’s been a good while since they’ve actually had sex and even though it’s a contortionist act to do it in the car, Sam gets off on it. They’ve got some boat of a Lincoln Continental from the 70s and the size and rumble feel as close to the Impala as they’ve had in a while and the similarity is enough to really turn his crank. 

Dean, goddamn him, knows this. 

It’s just now there’s another issue to consider. 

As much as Sam wants to get fucked -- and if the way his entire lower half seems to be melting into the seat is any indication, he needs it bad -- he doesn’t want to do anything that might hurt the baby. 

But that certainly doesn’t mean he can’t take advantage of the situation in other ways. 

He grins, unbuckles and slides closer, “Just keep driving.”

Dean outright scoffs, “Yeah, not gonna happen.”

Sam raises an eyebrow and leans in to whisper, “You really gonna say no to some road head?”

Dean shudders like chain lightning whipped through him and Sam chuckles in victory. He knows his brother just as well as Dean knows him. 

Sam sucks Dean’s earlobe between his teeth and reaches for Dean’s zipper at the same time. 

“Ah, Christ, Sammy, I’m gonna wreck the car.”

“Nobody really on the road, Dean. C’mon,” he pops his brothers dick outside of the denim, balls and all. “You know you want to.”

Dean answers by turning the key and putting the car in gear and Sam can’t help but breathe another victorious laugh into Dean’s ear, “Watch the yellow line, big brother.”

Sam’s hand is already streaked with precome when he leans down into Dean’s lap where the air is humid and smells like denim and leather and Dean and fuck, he’d be lying if he didn’t admit he got off on this just as much as his brother. 

Dean’s right leg moves under Sam’s chin as he accelerates -- slowly -- and Sam takes the opportunity to to lick delicately at the head of Dean’s dick. 

The noise Dean makes and the instant thickening of his cock tells Sam this isn’t gonna take too long. 

Sam feels an answering tremor shiver along his own spine and he ruts his hips into the bench seat to get a little friction. 

Luckily it's dark and there are very few other cars on the road. Dean's attention doesn't seem very focused on proper driving technique. 

Sam inhales deeply and sucks down a good few inches into his mouth, sliding the glans and the head past his lips and God, his brother tastes good. He gets inherently that it's not something he should know -- the saltsoursweet of Dean's dick -- but propriety doesn't seem to matter when he's got his head in his brother's lap.

It only takes a couple of bobs to get Dean's slick skin covered in precome and spit and Sam has no idea if Dean's keeping the Lincoln between the yellow and white lines, especially with the way his hips churn in the seat. 

Sam groans at the mental image and Dean grunts a soft, "God, Sammy."

Arousal, bright and sharp, shivers along Sam’s spine and into his balls and shit, he’s gonna come in his pants as he humps the seat of the car. The thought alone spurs him further and he wants to be literally gagging on Dean’s cock when he does, so he drops his head lower, sucks harder and takes just about every inch into his throat. 

“Son of a goddamned--” Dean’s hips jerk up, his fingers fist hard in Sam’s hair and his lower half shakes as he comes. “--bitch.”

Jesus, it’s exactly what he wanted and it’s hard to swallow all of it and his mouth is so fucking full he can’t breathe and sensation and smell and feel of it all -- choking on a dick -- ricochets Sam’s own orgasm through his groin and he soaks his boxers and jeans in what must be an inordinate amount of come. 

By the time he pulls off of Dean’s cock for some much needed air, his face is a mess and his throat burns and he has to drop his forehead onto Dean’s thigh for a minute and just breathe. 

Dean’s still got his hand tangled up in Sam’s hair when Sam asks, “Are you still driving?”

Dean’s just as breathless as Sam, “Fuck, no, little brother. I can’t drive through that.”

Sam laughs into denim and attempts to sit up. He gets halfway there when Dean pulls him in for a messy kiss. 

Sam’s smile breaks it and Dean drags his hand down Sam’s chest to his jeans with a low, “C’mere.”

Sam shakes his head so their noses rub together and tells him, “M’good.”

Dean draws back with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah? In your pants?”

Sam nods. 

Dean’s grin is lewd. “Nice.”

Sam gives Dean one last kiss and settles into the passenger seat again. He knows he should clean up, at least get out of the wet stuff, but he’s hit with a wave of exhaustion so complete that he doesn’t even care that all his junk is gonna be stuck to his skin in a few hours. 

He drifts off to the sensation of Dean putting the car in gear and getting back on the road. 

**

Sam spends one whole evening after they successfully -- and without injury at all -- rid a ghost from a residential home -- wondering how the hell he even got pregnant in the first place. 

They're finishing up dinner on one of the motel beds, some action movie on in the background that Dean's glued to and Sam's mind starts to come up with ways it could have happened.

If it was because of sex, that would mean the baby has to be Dean's and the little flutter in his heart at the thought of a little them running around makes him realize how gone he is over this whole thing. 

If it's something supernatural that impregnated him, he has to admit, he's a little nauseated at what could be growing inside him. 

But there's some instinct that's telling him the baby -- and he's thought of it as human since the very first second it had been mentioned in the clinic -- isn't a monster. 

God, please don’t let his child be a monster. 

This child has to be better than him. 

With a sour taste in his mouth, he starts to really contemplate the logistics of bringing a baby into their world. Across the room printouts litter the table and an open laptop using Frank’s camera tricks is frozen on a screen set to track the latest acquisitions of Richard Roman Enterprises. They’re up to their eyeballs in Leviathans and they’re on the police radar as serial killers and they’re driving piece of crap cars and using lame aliases to stay under the watchful eyes of any agency that might be tracking them and Sam fidgets on the bed thinking a child should have a life far better than theirs. 

He knows in this bleak spiral of thinking, he really only has two options: adoption or termination. 

Neither hold any appeal. 

Termination, despite all the logic and reason it brings, makes ice congeal in his stomach and there’s no way -- no way -- he could go through with it. 

Adoption is equally unacceptable because no matter how much he wants to give his child everything the world has to offer, the thought of other people providing that, hollows out his chest. Despite the stupidity of it, he wants to know the baby, watch him or her grow, give the child anything he or she could ever want. 

He doesn’t want that privilege to go to anyone else. 

He wants it to be him and Dean. 

And that’s where his heart almost stops beating. God, what if Dean doesn’t want the baby? Sam only knows bits and pieces about the whole Ben and Lisa thing, mostly because, even after everything, Dean refuses to discuss it. 

If Dean really wanted a kid, he had tons of opportunities. He could have settled down years ago, even before Lisa and Ben. 

His brother’s a hunter, first and foremost, has said numerous times he wouldn’t know what he would do if he wasn’t hunting. 

Once Sam continues to get bigger and bigger, there’s no way he’ll be able to hunt. He’ll have to stop. Not only for safety, but because he’ll become a liability. 

What if Dean doesn’t stop with him? 

Will Sam, truly on his own, be able to handle fatherhood?

He feels insufficient and not good enough and so, so inadequate. Dean’s the one who handles the kids. Dean’s the one who has a rapport with them. Sure, Sam respects them for the futures they hold, for the possibilities, but Dean’s the one who can talk to them, understand them, reason with them. 

Even though it’s not a time he likes to dwell on, he can still recall how effortless Dean made taking care of that shifter baby look. He’s got a knack for it. 

So why hasn’t he settled into fatherhood?

What if he just doesn’t want it?

Sam’s going to seriously have to contemplate stopping the life they’re leading now and the thought of saying goodbye to Dean when he does it -- watching the Impala pull away again -- makes his throat close up and he’s on the verge of tears. 

Jesus, how the hell is he going to do this? He’s living on borrowed time and he knows it. He won’t be able to hide this forever and what will he do when Dean figures it out? 

How in the world will he ever leave? 

“Your stomach still feel bad?”

Sam jolts so hard at the sound of Dean’s voice the bed shakes. He blinks, utterly unsure what Dean had asked. He mumbles a questioning noise. 

Dean nods to Sam’s abdomen and says, “Still feeling bad?”

When Sam looks down at himself, he finds his own fingers rubbing small circles along the tiny bump he can feel. 

Holy shit, he wasn’t even aware he was doing that. It’s just an instinct older than time to protect what he knows is growing inside him at all costs. 

He clears his throat, but doesn’t move his hand. “Nah. Just kind of itchy.”

“You get into poison or something?”

Sam shrugs. “Beats me.”

Dean reaches out, digs his hand under Sam’s t-shirt and the waistband of his track pants and wiggles his fingers against Sam’s suddenly super sensitive skin. 

Sam inhales sharply, “Careful. Don’t want to spread it.”

Dean leans closer, arm and elbow draped across Sam’s torso and whispers, “I’ll take my chances.”

And Jesus fucking Christ, Sam knows there’s no way Dean can possibly be aware of what he’s doing, but still, the implications and possible promises raise goosebumps on Sam’s arms. He imagines the baby inside him actually responding to Dean’s touch and his eyes water and he has to blink like a crazy person to keep the tears from falling. 

Dean would never admit it out loud, probably even with the threat of imminent death, but he’s a cuddler. Has been for as long as Sam has known him and he settles in next to Sam, palm cupping low on Sam’s belly and the entire experience feels more right than anything Sam has known in his twenty-eight years on the planet. 

He takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of Dean’s shampoo and hair gel and just Dean and tips his cheek against the top of Dean’s head and deliberately focuses back on the television screen. For the moment, as they lie together on their shared bed in a no name hotel in the middle of the country, Sam clears his mind and lets his worries fade away and his heartbeat calms with his brother’s nearness and for that evening, they just are. 

It’s easily one of the top ten best moments of Sam’s life and he knows without question, it would go into his heaven’s greatest hits. 

***

They're in Alabama during August and it's freakin' hot. The kind of heat that hangs in the air and in the lungs and Sam can't stand it on a good day, let alone when he's been pretty vividly fixated on the changes in his body and keeping all of it from Dean. 

His brother's gone out to find them dinner somewhere, even though Sam can't even conceive of eating when it's this goddamn hot. 

Still, he knows he's not just eating for himself anymore and despite it all, he smiles. 

He's on his third shower of the day, somehow convinced that he can keep the sweat at bay if he continually washes the old stuff off him and when he gets out, towel wrapped around his waist, he glances to the mirror in the bathroom and his abdomen looks different. 

It's nothing overt; it's just slightly distended. If it weren't for the other symptoms, he wouldn't have noticed a thing. 

He curls his middle finger under the small bump and his heart constricts in his chest. He can't fully explain how he became so convinced so quickly, but he just knows there's a baby inside him and the thought, while still shocking, mostly brings an odd sense of contentment and completion. 

"You're kidding, right?"

Dean's voice makes him jerk so suddenly, he has to grab for the towel before it slips off his hips. 

Sam pivots and he knows he's caught and he's gotta work fast to spin something. He clears his throat, "Think I oughta shave the treasure trail off?"

But Dean's got that big brother look and Sam knows it's not gonna work this time. Arms crossed, fierce determination in his eyes, Dean jerks his chin up and says, "Get out here."

"Just let me--"

"Huh uh. We're doing this now. C'mon. S'nothing I ain't seen before."

Sam's mind is spinning, figuring out a way to distract Dean one more time so he can hold onto this for himself just a little longer. So he doesn't have to face the disbelief and the disdain and the what are we going to do's just yet. 

He drags his feet while he thinks and by the time he sits on the bed, he realizes making Dean wait may not have been the smartest idea. His brother's practically tapping his booted foot against the motel carpet. 

Sam feels marginally exposed in nothing more than a towel, with his hair still wet from the shower, and he bunches the terrycloth material against his stomach and groin, not even sure himself what he's protecting. 

He tries for a deflection, "Dean you're being weird, this isn't--"

"I'm being weird?" Dean practically shouts. "Oh that is rich. You've been acting crazy since we went to the clinic." He's started up a rather frantic pacing. "You know we haven’t actually fucked since then, right? Probably before that, actually.”

Sam’s mouth drops open. “Dude, I blew you just this morning.”

“I’m talking actual sex, Sam.”

Sam knows his expression is incredulous, “So, what? You’re measuring my health by how many times I let you plow my ass?”

“Or you plow mine.” Dean never fails to make certain it’s known they switch. It’s probably a point of pride or something ridiculous like that. That Dean’s man enough to take it, just like Sam. 

Sam rolls his eyes, “Are you fucking with me right now? Because this is pretty out there even for you.”

Dean stops for a second, but the momentum he’s built doesn’t allow for a long pause. He shakes his head. “That’s not the real issue here, is it? So what's really going on? Huh? You still feel shitty? We're having this out, little brother, so you might as well spill."

Sam pulls his feet up on the bed, jamming more of the towel between his legs and he knows he could probably deflect Dean into arguing about sex and keep everything else under wraps. Hell, he could likely just tell Dean he thinks he's still got the stomach thing and be done with it. 

But he worries a little what will happen if he goes to another doctor and they find nothing wrong again, what medicines they'll try to get him to take, what tests he might have to undergo. 

Dean's stopped walking and is staring at him expectantly.

He makes an attempt at the first option and lowers his eyelids. “How about you let me make it up to you now? Hmmm?”

Dean huffs an irritated sound. "You're a piece of work, you know that? Ain't gonna work, Sam."

Sam bites the left side of his lower lip and slides his hips back and forth just once against the bed. 

Dean rolls his eyes. "How much of a slut do you think I am?"

Sam tips his eyebrows into his damp bangs, “You’re the one who’s using sex as some kind of fucked up health barometer. I’m trying to put your fears to rest. Seriously,” Sam reaches out, “C’mere.” 

Dean growls, "You can't distract me from this. I wanna know what's going on."

"Nothing's going on," Sam insists in his most sincere bluff the witness voice. "I was thinking about shaving and you walked in. That’s all. But maybe now you can help. That would be cool, right?"

To anyone else, it would be completely unidentifiable. No one would notice the difference in Dean's expression. 

But Sam does. 

It's a look he's seen only since the Ruby mess, never before, and even though it was years ago, Sam still recognizes it. Despite the fact that it's only a split second before Dean shuts it all down, Sam knows it's saying I don't trust you and I know you’re lying and I thought we got past this and please don't treat me like that again. 

And even though Sam's scared to fucking death of what his brother will say about this, the need to assure Dean that it's not demon blood or betrayal -- never again -- wins out, and he sucks in a sharp breath and says, "You're gonna think I'm insane."

Dean doesn't move. Only a tiny twitch of his eyelid betrays his stoic expression. 

Sam closes his eyes and knows he hasn't prepared himself well enough for this. After everything, it could be this that separates them for good. 

His heart is in his throat and he sends up a silent prayer to probably no one that he can do what needs to be done when he finally loses his brother. "I think the doctor's speculation was right." He shifts so both his fists are in his lap, covering his abdomen. "I think I'm pregnant."

Silence hovers, almost like a blanket, and Sam doesn't open his eyes. Not yet. He can't. He really doesn't want to see the horror on Dean's face. 

Christ, he hopes there's a kid. He'll need someone to love once Dean leaves. 

He kind of wants to laugh, pass it all off as a joke, but he's beyond that stage by now. He knows this is serious. Possibly the most serious, life altering event they've experienced to date. 

Just please let me get to kiss him goodbye. One last time. 

"Goodbye?" Dean asks.

Shit, he said that last part out loud. 

"Where are you going?"

And when Sam opens his eyes, it's not disgust or revulsion he sees on his brother's face. 

It's abject fear. 

Sam runs his fingers through his damp hair. "I figured you would be the one to go, now that your brother has finally cracked his lid."

Dean shakes his head, somewhat erratically, and sits down on the unused bed. "What...why do you think you might be...?"

Apparently Dean can’t even say the word. Not a very encouraging sign. 

Sam shrugs. "It's partly what the doctor said, and kind of just instinct."

Dean raises his eyebrows. "So you don't know for sure?"

"I didn't pee on a stick if that's what you mean. I don't know that there's any way to really test for this."

"So why then?"

Sam inhales and tries to explain something he only knows as a feeling, an innate understanding. "Okay, first of all, the symptoms fit. The nausea and I'm always tired. And..." he squirms a little, not certain exactly how much he wants to reveal because the more he says, the crazier he's going to look. 

Dean's expectant -- sitting literally on the edge of the bed -- and although he's got that about to come unglued expression, he also appears interested in Sam's explanation. 

So Sam jumps. 

"It's not something I can really explain. I just, kind of...know. My stomach seems to still be a little distended and it all kind of just," Sam shrugs. "Makes sense."

Dean nods, but it seems a little ragged, unsure. "Okay," he takes a deep breath. "What about that thing, like from the CSI episode. Remember? Crazy pregnancy or something?"

“Hysterical pregnancy,” Sam corrects and takes a moment to consider and try to reel in the surprise that Dean remembers stuff like that. "I mean, I'm not denying it. Stranger things have happened to us, that's for sure, but I don't know Dean. It feels too...easy."

Dean fidgets a bit and looks away and Sam's well-versed enough in non-verbal Dean speak to know that means he doesn't want to talk about what he's about to bring up. "What about..." his words get clogged for a second, further confirming Dean's reluctance. "You think it could be Lucifer again?"

At this point, Sam’s not sure if it’s some irrational denial or if he knows, deep in his gut, that there really is a child here, but he inhales and tells his brother, “I thought of that. At the very beginning. It’s exactly a bizarre enough hallucination like he would do. But since…” he has to stop for a minute at what a mess they left in that mental institution. “Since Cas...took them, he really has been gone. And besides,” he scratches the scar on his palm, “I did the hand thing. Everything’s still here.”

Dean swallows, still downloading all the information. 

Sam shakes his head. "Plus, it doesn't feel like that. I know how crazy this all sounds, Dean, trust me," he huffs a humorless laugh. "The insanity of it is pretty much all I've thought about since we left the clinic, but this feels...," it's frustrating the hell out of him that this has become so difficult to describe. He sighs. "I don't know, real somehow."

Dean scrapes his hand across his jaw. "How...uh," he coughs, "How do you know it's...human?"

Sam tries to swallow the lump in his throat, but it doesn't really go anywhere. Admitting this takes more than he realized it would, but he whispers, "I don't."

Sam swear he can hear both of their heartbeats echo in the room. He inhales, and tries again to explain the inexplicable. "But...the thing is, everything else has felt wrong. Demon blood, Lucifer, but this doesn't give me that feeling. For the first time in a long time, Dean, this feels right. I know it. I really think it's a baby. A human baby."

The fact that it's also likely Dean's he keeps to himself. 

He doubts his brother could handle that admission at the moment. 

Dean seems to contemplate something before he stands up. "I'm gonna..." his eyes drift around the room and land on the bags he brought for dinner, "...get some ice."

Sam responds with a soft okay, and even though he knows his brother is freaking out, probably more than he ever has with anything else they've faced, he lets Dean go. 

When he hears the Impala start up, his body jolts. He wants to run after Dean, wants to tell him it was all a joke, let's laugh about it Dean, I was only kidding, don't let it end like this. 

But he's not dressed and besides that, he knows if he deflects this again it won't really change the ultimate outcome. If Dean can't accept it, better to have it be now than than later. 

As much as it hurts, at least now he knows. 

Sam needs as much time to plan for this as he can and if he has to go it alone, he'll need every second. 

It's with a heavy heart that he brushes his fingers along his belly and stands to get dressed, putting on clothes on auto-pilot, recognizing only that it’s too damn hot for jeans. 

He thinks. He thinks about where to go with this. What doctor would ever believe him, let alone want to help him?

It's not something he can do by himself. He knows this. It's not only unprecedented, it's unheard of and he knows he'll need to be prepared. 

He thinks about the doctors he's known over the years and whether or not he could approach any of them with this. 

He remembers the pre-med friends he made at Stanford and wonders he could get them to believe this enough to help him. 

His head starts to swirl with hopelessness and he can feel his heartbeat quicken and his respiration change and he knows if he wants to stave off a panic attack, he's gotta change gears. 

Jobs. He considers how he's going to make money. Credit card scams aren't exactly a legit way to raise a child, no matter what his father might have believed. 

He's got relatively marketable skills, but without a degree, there's not much he can necessarily do with them. 

First, he should consider where to settle down. 

He's always liked the west coast, but he knows Dean prefers the southwest for the food. 

His heart clenches when he realizes that really doesn't have to be a consideration anymore. 

God, he hopes this baby is Dean's so he'll have at least a little bit to remember his brother by. 

He clears his throat and starts to pack, figuring now's as good a time as any. He should probably be gone before Dean gets back anyway. 

Halfway through he realizes his hands are shaking. 

Jesus, this is tougher than he thought. 

When the door opens, he jumps so fast, most of his clothes end up on the floor. 

Dean's holding a CVS bag and a curious expression. "You packing up before dinner?"

Sam's still frozen, still hovering over his bag beside the bed. He's literally shocked speechless to see Dean standing there, looking for all intents and purposes, as though he never was going to leave for good. 

"I..." Sam has to make another attempt at words. "I thought..."

Dean frowns. "What? That I wasn't coming back?"

Sam shrugs. 

"Sammy, come on." 

There's so much loaded into those three simple words, Sam can't distinguish the different emotions and tones. 

There's a whole lot of disbelief and affront, though. 

The bag rustles when Dean digs inside and the pregnancy test he pulls out gives Sam pause. 

Sam huffs, "You're kidding, right?"

It's Dean's turn to shrug. "Figured what the hell."

It's so typical Dean, part bluster, part badass and all show. A momentary interlude to the real issue at hand. 

Sam rolls his eyes, but there's a part of him -- a fairly significant part, if he's being honest -- that's just so thrilled his idiot brother came back and didn't walk out completely, that he grabs the stick and hopes he can piss on command. "You realize if it’s positive, it might mean testicular cancer and not a baby right?"

Dean pales significantly. “What?”

“You really should use the internet for more than just porn, Dean.”

“Not funny, Sam.”

“I’m not joking. Some guy found one his ex left behind and took it for shits and giggles and when it came back positive, he made some fucked up cartoon about it on Facebook and people there were telling him to get checked. Turns out he had testicular cancer.”

Dean barely blinks. 

Sam rolls his eyes and walks into the bathroom. The only reason he’s being so glib about it is the bloodwork done in the clinic likely would have shown at least some cancerous cells if he had testicular cancer. 

Besides, it’s a moot point anyway. Pregnancy tests won’t prove anything. 

Sam's in the bathroom longer than he knows he should be, but part of it is to regain whatever equilibrium he can find in this situation and part of it is because he peed just a little while ago. He’s bounced back and forth so many time with this, he’s starting to feel dizzy. 

Dean might stay. 

No, Dean’s gonna go. 

They can do this together. 

No, Sam will be totally alone. 

He’s standing so long over the toilet that the stream of piss once it comes actually surprises him and it’s only through reflex alone that he even manages to get any on the stick. 

He chuffs a silent laugh at himself. At what he’s become. At the inanity of it all, but he can’t help giving his belly a little pat as he buttons his jeans. 

Dean’s got the meal re-heated by the time Sam comes out of the bathroom, waving the stick in the air. He puts it on the table between them and Dean still looks freaked. “Maybe we should forget about it, Sam.”

Sam goes for a reassuring smile. “It’ll be negative, Dean. The tests at the clinic would have shown something otherwise.”

That seems to calm Dean and he takes a bite of his chicken strip and asks, "You ever have to do this before?"

For an insane instant Sam seriously thinks he's asking if he's ever been pregnant before and it must show on his face because Dean gives him a withering look. 

"Not piss on a stick, idiot. You ever do this with a woman? You know, had a scare?"

Sam swallows his grilled chicken -- tastes pretty good and he's more than certain the return of his appetite coincided not coincidentally with Dean's return to the motel room. "Nah. I had a big brother who taught me to wrap it up."

Dean grins at that. "Damn right you did."

As expected, nothing shows up on the stick, but Sam still knows, deep in his gut, that he's pregnant. And he tells Dean as much. 

Later that night, when they crawl into bed, Sam notices Dean's hesitation and for a second, his stomach rolls because he thinks his brother's afraid of him, of what's growing inside him. He goes to speak, to say what he doesn't know and when he makes eye contact, he realizes it's not disgust that makes Dean hesitate, but consideration and care. 

Sam stops, half on his side facing Dean and when his brother crawls further under the sheet (it's still too damn hot for full covers), Sam's stunned to watch Dean reach out -- in starts and stops -- until the backs of his fingers brush very softly along Sam's bare abdomen, just above the elastic of his boxer shorts.

The touch lights up Sam's entire body, from toes to head, with delicate tingles and his eyes burn and he has to hide the reaction in his pillow. 

"You really think?" Dean whispers. 

It takes Sam a full minute to speak, but he pulls Dean's hand even closer to his belly, and manages to choke out, "I don't know, but s-something in me says it makes sense."

Dean leans up, connecting their mouths and it's easily the most chaste kiss they've ever shared, but it shakes Sam to his very core. 

Dean trails his lips along Sam's chin to that spot just under his ear that curls Sam's toes and he whispers, "Whatever this is, we'll figure it out, Sammy. You're not alone."

Something in Sam's chest shatters at the words and he never understood how difficult it was to carry this by himself for the past few weeks until he heard his brother say he didn't have to anymore. 

He squirms along the bed until he's wrapped up tight against Dean, separated only by their boxers, and even with the heat and dampness of their skin, it feels so fucking perfect, Sam has to ignore how wet his eyes and cheeks have gotten. 

They sleep wrapped together and despite the fact that when he wakes up in the middle of the night, they're sticky as hell and practically glued together with sweat, Sam can't find it in him to let go.

***

By morning, Dean's up ahead of him and clearly on a mission, if the printed out map in his hand is anything to go by. 

Sam's groggy, not sure where the sudden motivation came from. "Dean?"

Dean claps three times. "Up and at 'em, Sammy. We've got an appointment."

Sam's still twisted in the sheet. "An appointment where?"

"A doctor who can help."

Sam blinks. "What doctor?"

Dean's tossing stuff rather haphazardly in his duffle and Sam's still watching from the bed. He's been having trouble kick starting himself in the morning. He yawns. 

"Dad knew him," Dean explains. "He helps hunters, and I already filled him in on our situation. He was quick to tell me this won't be the weirdest thing he's seen."

"How did you meet him?"

Dean pauses and Sam knows there's a story here. And probably one he's not going to like if Dean's hesitancy is any indication. 

"Um."

Sam struggles a little to sit up, but he rests against the headboard, crosses his arms and demands, "Spill it."

Dean sighs. "He killed me."

It frustrates the hell out of Sam when his brother gets ridiculously melodramatic like this. Sam blames all those medical soap operas he watches. He glares across the room, "Seriously."

"I am being serious. It was back when..." Dean chews his bottom lip, takes a deep breath and says, "It was back when I was trying to figure out how to get your soul back and I had to talk to death. That was the only way I could figure how to do it. And, well, Dr. Robert helped. He killed me."

How the hell did Sam never know this? And how many times could his idiot brother have been killed and Sam would never have known? Jesus. "Dean, that's insane. I can't believe you did that."

Dean shrugs, self-effacing as always. "Well, it worked, so the guy obviously knows what he's doing. C'mon. Daylight's burning."

They stop off at the barn where the Impala’s sitting under a tarp. Despite the threat, Dean decides she has to be a part of this. 

As Sam settles back into the passenger seat, he knows he’s missed her almost as much as Dean and can’t argue that she should be with them. 

All told, it takes them a good six hours to reach Sleepy Eye, Minnesota, and Sam can't actually believe Dean trusted any doctor that would work out of the back of a meat market.

The walls are actually greasy. 

Sam shudders a little, but is relieved to find that although Dr. Robert falls more than a few degrees to the odd side of the scale, his equipment is actually pretty clean. 

His assistant, Eva, on the other hand, looks like something straight out of a goth club. 

She and Dean must have some kind of sordid history if the wide berth he gives her is any indication. 

"Sam," Dr. Robert exclaims. "You were the last Winchester I had to meet. Glad to have you on my table."

What do you say to that? Thanks?

Sam stays quiet and tries to quell the rolling in his stomach. 

Dr. Robert pats the padded table. "Hop on up."

Eva wheels an instrument over and suddenly, between one breath and the next, Sam's scared shitless. This is it. This will be what determines the true answer to his symptoms.

What if it's not really a baby?

God, what if it's some deformed monster?

What if a supernatural entity was playing a cruel joke and impregnated him with something not human?

It's with a hitch of jaw-clenching terror that he turns to his brother. "Dean..."

Dean shakes his head, like he already knows the excuses Sam's going to make. "C'mon, Sammy, let's figure this out. I'm not going anywhere."

It's only the reassurance that allows Sam to crawl up to the table and face the doctor and Eva. 

Dr. Robert has a wand in one hand and makes a circling pattern with the other, indicating Sam’s pants. “Um, do you want me to, or…”

“Oh,” Sam starts and reaches for the button on his jeans. He pries the denim back and lifts his shirt, exposing his slightly round belly.

“So,” Dr. Robert says as he squirts surprisingly warm KY onto Sam’s abdomen. “You’ve been sick in the morning?”

Sam nods, thinking it’s kind of weird that this is sort of like a regular exam. 

“And you’ve been peeing extra?”

“Yeah,” Sam confirms just as the rounded end of the wand is placed against his stomach and moved around.

“Tired a lot?” Dr. Robert asks. 

Sam agrees, but can't bring himself to even glance at the ultrasound screen. His fingers clenched in a tight fist, all he can do is chant to himself, please let it be normal, please let it be normal. 

"Certainly sounds like the typical symptoms,” Dr. Robert’s tone is marginally distracted as he watches the panel. “Can’t know for sure until we...wait…” he moves the wand a fraction of an inch. “Yep, there we are. There's your little zygote.”

For a second, Sam would swear no one breathes. 

"I've only ever seen two of these before, but it gets me every time," Dr. Robert confesses.

Sam looks to his left and Jesus fucking Christ, there it is. It's tough to make out, but it actually looks like a human fetus on the screen. 

He can't. 

It's not. 

Holy shit, this is happening. 

The emotions bubble up from his chest and he's gasping for breath. 

Dr. Robert nods, "Yeah, that's usually the reaction I get."

"Is it," Sam gasps. "Is it...okay?"

Dr. Robert nods. "Looks exactly like a healthy human embryo. From what I can tell, I would guess you're about fourteen weeks along."

Sam laughs. The chuckle punches its way out of his throat and suddenly he can't stop. He shakes so hard, Dr. Robert has to pull away and wait until he's finished. 

By the time the laughter subsides, his cheeks are wet and he can't blame it all on the sudden mirth. "I can't believe it."

Dean hasn't moved. He also hasn't looked away from the screen. 

Despite being certain for the last few weeks, the confirmation is kind of like a punch to the solar plexus. It rocks Sam to his core. 

Still, he has to ask, "How?"

Dr. Robert resumes sliding the scope all along Sam's stomach and each time, different aspects of the fetus appear. "As far as I'm able to tell, a certain percentage of men are able to carry a baby. It's not hermaphroditism, or anything like that. They just have a uterus. Many of which remain latent. It's only those who have unprotected sex with another man who run the risk of pregnancy. But without ever having an ultrasound on your abdomen, there's really no way to know you’ve even got one, so don't beat yourself up too much. Although in this day and age, Sam, condoms really are your friend."

Eva huffs a laugh. 

And Dean looks away from the screen, right into Sam's eyes. 

Surely his brother knows there's been no one else. And they stopped using any kind of protection a while ago. 

Sam's eyes well up again. 

A baby. 

Their baby. 

Dean gets it at exactly the same moment because his expression goes as soft as Sam's ever seen it. 

"Hang on," Dr. Robert reaches for a switch. "I'm pretty sure we can hear a heartbeat."

In literally the most surreal second of Sam’s life, the wet, gurgly sound of a pulse comes through the speakers and Dean jerks like he's been shot.

Sam can't take a full breath as the noise becomes rhythmic. 

"Goddamn," Dean murmurs. 

Dr. Robert nods. "Yep. There it is. Strong as hell by the sound of it."

Sam doesn't even bother to explain his tears. 

They listen for what feels like a long time. Sam kind of wants a recording of it. It may be the best noise he's ever heard. 

His brother's in the same boat if his frozen stature is anything to go by. 

"Okay, guys, let's talk prenatal care," Dr. Robert says, clicking off the machine and wiping up Sam's stomach. He pauses for a minute, looking at them over his glasses. "Unless that's not the option you're going for."

Sam frowns. 

"I can terminate if that's what you'd prefer."

"No."

It's simultaneous and in sync. Both Sam and Dean answer almost as one person. 

Dr. Robert bobs his head. "That's what I thought, but I needed to be sure."

They talk about vitamins and what Sam should and shouldn't do and through it all, he has trouble looking away from Dean. 

Dean's apparently got the same problem and it's so comforting, Sam can feel his heartrate drop a bit. 

Dr. Robert tells them where the get the best vitamins and scribbles the information on a small piece of paper and that he wants to see them again in a couple weeks, just to check the progress. 

By the time they make it back out to the Impala, Sam's more than a little dizzy. 

Dean slides behind the wheel and reaches for the instructions in Sam's hand. 

It's quiet for long enough that Sam gets nervous. 

"So," Dean says. "A baby, huh?"

Sam picks at the cuticle on his thumb. "Looks like."

"And, uh," Dean rubs the back of his neck. "It's ours?"

Sam jerks his head to the driver's side. "Of course it is, Dean. Did you seriously doubt that?"

Dean shakes his head. "Just wanted to see your reaction if I asked."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Jerk."

Dean smiles. One of the lightest, brightest smiles Sam's seen on his brother's face in years. "Bitch."

It must look pretty ridiculous to an outsider, the two of them sitting in an unmoving vehicle just grinning like idiots at each other, but Sam really doesn't give a shit. 

Dean breaks it by starting the Impala and declaring, "First things first. Let's put a dent in that list."

***

They've more than dented the list when they drag all the items they purchased into a relatively decent motel room later. 

Sam's somewhat surprised that Sleepy Eye has such clean and well-kept accommodations. He suspects Dean probably just set his sights a little higher for their first stay in the town, but he doesn't mention it out loud.

In fact, Dean’s acting a little off as they settle in. Jittery, anxious, restless. 

“What’s up?” Sam asks. 

Dean looks up from his duffel with that caught-out expression and a shiver of worry creeps down Sam’s spine. 

Sam abandons his change of clothes and steps around the bed. “Seriously, you okay?”

Dean scrubs his fingers along the back of his neck and Sam knows the gesture spells trouble. Even though his own mind reels at the confirmation they just got, he wants to know what’s going on inside Dean’s head, so he suggests, “Just tell me.”

Dean huffs a breath, drops his arm and says, “We’re related.”

Sam frowns. On a scale of obvious statements that one hits pretty high. “Um. True?”

Dean’s eyes narrow. “It’s not a game, Sammy. We’re related. How do we know that’s not gonna,” he waves a hand in a circle aimed at Sam’s stomach. “Fuck it up?”

That’s. Actually a valid point that Sam truly hadn’t thought of. Dean has become so much a part of him over the years that even though he knows, intellectually, they’re brothers, the word means far more than a simple blood relation. 

“Huh,” Sam muses. 

“What?” Dean’s bordering on exasperated. “You forgot?”

Sam shakes his head. “No, just. I don’t know. You’re so much more to me than that.”

It’s somewhat funny when it’s possible to actually see Dean melt. And he does. His features soften and he kind of settles into his stance more. It’s difficult not to touch and Sam doesn’t avoid it now. He slides his fingers along the inside of Dean’s elbow and says, “Doc seemed to think it’s okay,” he shrugs. “Besides a hell of a lot of Kings and Queens are related in some way. Can’t be that bad if royalty can do it, right?”

The joke falls flat, but Dean seems at least a little more relaxed, so Sam counts it as a win. 

“Tell you what,” Sam continues. “How about we just take this as it comes. One day at a time.”

Dean nods and gets that skeevy look for a second. “Valerie Bertinelli is hot.”

Sam steps back to his pile of clothes with a belabored sigh and an eye roll. 

His brother watches way too much TV.

**

Sam's not completely sure how Dean manages it, but he finds them an already furnished apartment and himself a job all within the first week. 

The apartment's a little small, but perfect for two people used to living in nothing more than a motel room.

There's a kitchen and a living space and two bedrooms. The bathroom's a decent size and Sam can really see himself nesting here. Even though he'd never admit that out loud. 

They match the paint on the walls perfectly when they put the sigils up. The little space should be protected from just about everything supernatural they could think of. 

Dean inquired about a help wanted sign in a diner window and once they tasted his burgers, he was hired as a cook immediately. 

It wasn't often that they got the chance to really use a kitchen when they were younger, but when they did in places they stayed for more than a few weeks, it never ceased to amaze Sam what Dean could do with some hamburger meat and spices. 

Looks like the town of Sleepy Eye will get to experience Dean's culinary skills first hand. 

Sam skims through the help wanted ads in the paper to find something for himself, but Dean informs him it won't be necessary. When Sam asks "well, what am I gonna do?" and Dean answers, "grow a baby," any protest Sam might have had dies on his lips with the warm feeling that suffuses his chest and belly. 

So, he lets Dean take care of bringing home the bacon and Sam makes the apartment as welcoming and settled as he can, giving everything a place and working on a cozy feel. 

Dean dives into his new occupation the same way he does anything else that gets him excited. 

In addition to any and all kinds of pregnancy books, the kitchen table starts to sag a little under the weight of the cookbooks piling up as well. 

Sam gets to be the guinea pig for most of Dean's experiments, but he doesn't complain a single bit because it's possible his brother may have found his true calling. 

Sam likes to call Dean Julia Child just to get to hear the ridiculous accent and Saturday Night Live skit Dean has practically memorized. 

Sam knows he probably takes it a bit far the night he rents Julie and Julia, even though Dean sits next to him and watches the whole movie. 

Sam's belly gets a little bigger. Partly from Dean's cooking and partly from the baby and it's easily the happiest he's ever been.

***

Dean’s got something that smells amazing going on in the kitchen and when Sam asks what it is, Dean tells him he has to keep an open mind. 

Intrigued, Sam sits down at the table and nods even as his stomach growls. He’s been crazy hungry recently. 

Dean stirs something and turns around. “Okay, it’s chicken wings, but I used Coke for the glaze.”

Sam frowns and says, “the drug?” just to watch his brother huff and jam his hands onto his hips. 

“The drink, dipshit.”

Sam ducks his chin to hide his smile. 

“Don’t be cute, Sam,” Dean warns. 

“Why not?” Sam quips. 

Dean’s green eyes sparkle. “You distract me,” he inhales. “As I was saying. I tried Coke for the glaze. I think it’ll work as crazy as it sounds ‘cause the sugar will give it the sweetness.”

Sam nods because it makes sense. “When can I taste?”

“Patience, grasshopper,” Dean intones. “You can’t eat raw chicken.”

Sam watches his brother swish a splash or two of soy sauce into the pot and it amazes him a little that Dean never seems to measure anything. A bit of wine goes in next, with Dean sipping out of the bottle and Sam has to grin. 

By the time the dish is ready, Sam’s nearly delirious with hunger and the first bite is so extraordinary, he could seriously cry. 

“Where do you learn this stuff?” Sam mumbles around his fourth chicken wing. 

Dean shrugs, but his expression is one of triumph. “It just kind of comes to me. Think it could be added to the menu?”

“Hell yeah,” Sam encourages. 

Four days later, the pharmacist at the drugstore tells Sam she has no idea where Dean comes up with his recipes, but she’s considering signing him up for Diners, Drive-ins and Dives. 

Sam just beams with pride. 

**

It’s been a month when they’re back in Dr. Robert’s office and Sam is almost at the point where he’s not sure he’s going to be able to continue zipping his jeans. 

The photo on the sonogram takes his breath away, just like it did the first time, but nothing has prepared him for Dr. Robert’s next words. 

“So, you wanna know the sex?”

Dean blinks and Sam can feel himself boggle a little. “You can tell that?”

Dr. Robert nods. “I’m pretty certain at this point.”

Sam lifts his eyes to Dean and Dean makes the gesture that says it’s up to you, Sammy.

Sam inhales and answers, “Yeah, I do.”

Dr. Robert twists the wand against Sam’s stomach and grins. “I hope you bought some pink paint for the room.”

“A girl?” Dean whispers. 

Dr. Robert agrees. 

Jesus. 

A girl. 

A little girl. With Dean’s freckles and shit-eating expression and roguish spirit. 

Christ, Sam’s so in love with her already, he should probably be scared. 

He swears he hears his brother murmur fuck in an awed, solemn voice. 

The ultrasound picks up the heartbeat again and it’s suddenly so real that there’s a little person inside him. A girl. A daughter. 

Sam wants to meet her now. 

Dr. Robert laughs softly. “You’ll meet her when she’s ready to say hi.”

Sam should be embarrassed that he said that out loud, but when he sees the look of pure adoration on Dean’s face, he’s really, really not. 

***

Three days later Dean’s late getting home. 

Sam’s on the couch watching some ridiculous reality show and trying not to send out the entire Sleepy Eye police force to find his brother when Dean flings open the front door and pointedly doesn’t look at Sam. 

Something fizzes in Sam’s stomach and he’s not sure if it’s the residual panic or that stupid voice in the back of his head that still worries that maybe Dean doesn’t want this and will one day walk out or find something better or go back to Ben and Lisa so he can have something more normal than a baby with his brother. 

Sam swears he tries not to sound petulant when he says, “Hey, you’re home kinda late.”

Dean clears his throat and heads into the kitchen, plastic bag crinkling in his hand. “Had some stuff to do.”

The uncomfortable feeling multiplies and Sam inhales, knowing he has to confront this, as much as he'd rather ignore it.

He stands and follows his brother, preparing himself for the worst. 

Dean’s shoving the bag into a corner drawer that as far as Sam knows they don’t use for anything and spins around way too quickly for Sam’s comfort. 

Sam frowns, “What’s up?”

Dean huffs. “Nothing. Did you eat yet?”

"Was waiting for you."

Dean nods and pulls open the bottom cabinet, banging pans around and looking anywhere but at Sam.

Sam sits at the table, needing something solid underneath him to voice this issue. "Dean," his throat closes up and he has to start again. "Dean, listen. I know all of this is weird and probably n-not what you wanted or how you pictured, well, anything, s-so if you've changed your mind or don't w-want--"

Dean spins around and makes eye contact for the first time since he walked in the door and his expression is murderous.

Sam blinks rapidly but tries again, "It's just--"

Dean slices his hand through the air, rather theatrically, in a bid for silence. 

Sam leans back in his chair and cups a palm over his rounded stomach. He actually has to clench his teeth to keep from filling the quiet with rambling words in an effort to fix whatever might happen in the next few minutes. 

Dean huffs a belabored sigh and without a word turns back to the drawer and pulls out the plastic bag. It's balled up in his hand and his stance looks like he's about to go to war. He clears his throat, "I don't want you to get all...weird about this, but...just, here."

He tosses the bag onto the table and Sam can't help but feel like it's a live grenade. He knows his hesitancy and trepidation show on his face, but he's unable to alter his fearful expression.

It takes what likely is an inordinate amount of time to un-ball the bag and what tumbles out, miraculously is not a military explosive, but instead a soft pink material that when Sam unfolds it becomes a tiny baby's shirt with the AC/DC album cover For Those About to Rock.

It's what Sam imagines would be like taking a line drive to the chest. All the air leaves his lungs in a huge rush and he doesn't think he can adequately recover enough oxygen. 

"I just..." Dean has to clear his throat. "I saw it and thought sh-she would probably look really cute in it and I got it, but then I started looking around and lost track of the time and have you seen some of the stuff they have? It's totally awesome, Sammy. Our kid's gonna be so badass."

Sam's blinking like a lunatic because if Dean sees his tears he'll never hear the end of it. 

Dean's rubbing the back of his neck and looking unaccountably self-conscious. "So, see, I can't even walk past the kids' clothing rack without stopping to look." He seems to shake off his mortification when he says, "I'm in this Sam. For the long haul. You, me and her. I don't want you thinking anything else."

It's seismic in scope, what the words to do Sam's entire being, and for a second or two he can't draw breath. When he does, it catches in his throat and his eyes fill and when he stands, Dean puts a hand up between them with a sigh. 

"This is what I meant by not being weird, Sam."

There's no way Sam can stop the momentum he's got and he ends up wrapping himself around his brother with a feeling suffusing his body that's a lot like an intoxicated euphoria. 

It's better than being high and drunk because it's not manufactured. It's a direct result of him and Dean and it's like fireworks in a field and the botanical gardens at the aquarium and stargazing on the hood of the Impala all the countless other moments that took Sam's breath away. 

He buries his nose in Dean's neck and hangs on. 

Dean groans an overwrought sound, but still returns the hug and tips his cheek against Sam's head. 

Sam attempts to wipe his eyes on Dean's t-shirt as covertly as he can, but he's pretty sure his brother can see right through it. 

Sam pulls back with a soft sniff and says, "I love it. The shirt, the fact that you can't walk past baby clothes--"

"Sam..."

"--without stopping to look. It's all just...really awesome. And you're right. She's gonna be so badass."

Dean's tough-guy facade breaks a little -- Sam's starting to realize it usually does when their daughter is mentioned -- and he grins. "Damn right she is."

Sam connects their foreheads for a few seconds and it's Dean who gently rubs their noses together before he declares, "Okay, enough sap. Whaddyou want to eat?"

Sam truly couldn't care less. Food is nowhere near the top of his priority list when he's got his brother in his arms and their daughter safe between them.

So he shrugs and tells Dean to surprise him and he realizes his brother's been doing just that ever since this whole thing started. 

**

It's fortunate that Sam always purchased clothing that was just a little too big on him. Sure, there was a practical purpose to it with the hunting lifestyle -- you can hide a lot under baggy shirts and jeans -- but it really comes in handy when his stomach starts to swell a little. 

It's nothing particularly glaring at first, he just can't always button his jeans or has to wear them a little lower, so that the waist rests just under his abdomen. Really, without knowing there would be no way anyone could tell anything was different at all. 

But Sam knows. He can feel it -- the changes his body is going through. 

While he can see where some of it would be irritating, he has to admit -- to himself only -- that really, it's just pretty amazing. 

He can't seem to stop rubbing the slight bump in his belly and that’s what he’s doing one evening while watching Dean watch that ridiculous hospital drama show he loves so much when a random thought pops into his head. 

“What did you tell them?”

It takes his brother a little while to acknowledge Sam’s question and even then, his attention is divided. 

Sam knows he should have waited until a commercial -- it’s the decent thing to do -- but his filter’s not what it used to be. 

“Who?” Dean asks. 

“The people that knew us as hunters,” Sam replies. “Garth, Sheriff Mills…”

Dean glances over to Sam’s end of the couch. “I didn’t tell them anything.”

“So they think we’re still out there?”

Dean shrugs. “If they call, then I’ll tell them we’re done.”

Sam kicks a leg up over Dean’s thighs. “You gonna tell them why?”

Dean shoves another handful of popcorn into his mouth and mumbles, “Dunno. Not all of it, that’s for sure. Maybe sometime.”

The music on the television sounds awfully dire and Dean jerks his attention back to the screen with a shocked, “She did not do that!”

Sam can’t help but smile at his brother’s reaction and knows the conversation’s over. 

****

When Sam finally makes it to the diner where his brother works he's a little surprised at the amount of people inside. He supposes he likely shouldn't be if all the rumors he heard about the new cook are true. 

A bell above the door jingles when he steps inside and there's a kind-faced older woman at the register near the door and her eyes narrow when she first sees him as though she's assessing something before she asks, "Sam?"

Sam knows the shock has to show. "Um. Yes."

A smile bursts over her face that could probably rival the brightness of the sun and she explains, "Dean talks about you every day. It's like I know you already. So glad you could stop by. I'm Esther, by the way. I'm telling you, the things your boyfriend can do with a pot roast are utterly amazing."

The word boyfriend blows through Sam like an unexpected but truly fresh ocean breeze. He'd never asked Dean how he'd explained their situation to anyone. 

His chest gets warm to know Dean actually used the term boyfriend. 

Sam jumps back into the conversation after clearing his throat. "Um, yeah, he's a real whiz in the kitchen. I'm not sure where he comes up with some of the stuff."

Esther's grin turns maternal and knowing and incredibly fond. She motions to the counter. "How about you take a seat and we'll see if we can rustle you up the special? It's ham, potatoes and green beans and my mother'll turn over in her grave if she hears me say this, but it's the best I've ever had."

Sam can't help but return the smile and take the offered stool. 

He's looking around the diner, taking note of the photos that line the walls, many of which show a bygone era, but it somehow fits with the atmosphere. 

It's only a few moments later when another lady steps in front of him with a nametag that says Grace and a telling expression. "You must be Sam," she says by way of hello. 

Sam nods. 

"Took me a while to get it out of your boyfriend back there, but he's right, you are a looker."

Sam can actually feel the blush climb his cheeks. 

"What're you having to drink, sweetheart?"

Sam has trouble getting "just a water" out but he eventually does and Grace's grin just gets wider. 

He can now see Dean back at the grill, moving fluidly like he was born to wear an apron and handle a spatula. 

Sam's so caught up in watching his brother, he barely notices when Grace puts a water down in front of him as well as a salad. 

"Dressing?" she asks. 

He answers Italian without taking his eyes off Dean and the dance he's performing in the kitchen. There must be a miniscule lull in the orders because Dean looks up and the surprise and pleasure on his face almost takes Sam's breath. 

Dean calls out, "Hey Sammy. What did Esther order for you?"

"The special," Sam tells him. 

Dean give him a thumbs up and stirs something in a pan on the stove. 

A settled sensation lands deep in Sam's stomach and he realizes for the first time, they're making a place for themselves. People know them as more than just someone passing through or two dudes who know enough about ghosts to get rid of the weird stuff going on in a house. 

It's refreshing and calms that restless something that's been inside Sam for longer than he'd care to admit. 

And he has to agree with Esther. 

The special really is incredible. 

**

Sam's standing in the middle of the grocery store, staring at the multiple boxes of Pasta Roni when it first happens. 

He's contemplating garlic and herbs over parmesan cheese, holding the latter in his hand, and it feels like there's a bug on his stomach and he scratches low on the left side, but the sensation doesn't go away. 

He freaks out for a split second that there really is some kind of spider on him and despite the teasing he would get from Dean when they grew up, creepy crawly things kind of give him the jeebs. 

He's yanking his shirt up, trying to locate the insect when Dean comes around the corner with a bunch of vegetables bagged up under his arms. Sam glances at his stomach and sees nothing on his skin. At all. 

When the flutter happens again, he drops the box of Pasta Roni and gasps. 

It's her. 

Jesus, the colorful contents of the shelf in front of him start to swim in his vision because despite all evidence to the contrary, a part of him -- some deep, dark part that he tried so hard not to listen to -- kept whispering that this really was all in his head because he hadn't felt her move yet. 

Ultrasounds and all else be damned, Sam's life had taught him not to trust what was right in front of his face, so without the proof of movement, even though his stomach continued to grow, there was always the thought that this was some hideous cosmic or mental joke. 

But with that one little tickle in his belly in the middle of aisle nine in some mom and pop grocery store in the middle of the country, that voice is silenced and the relief is monumental. 

Dean tosses the veggies in the cart and is in front of him before Sam can fully blink the tears from his eyes. 

"What?" Dean's voice is tiptoeing toward panic. "What is it, Sammy?"

Sam doesn't take even a second to consider what they look like when he grabs his brother's hand and places it low on his own stomach, right over the sensation of butterfly wings from the inside. He'll never get the verbal explanation past the emotion clogging his throat. 

Dean's puzzled for a minute, but something must happen -- he feels what Sam does, or a connection between father and daughter is made -- and Dean echoes Sam's early inhalation and whispers, "Seriously?"

Sam can only nod. 

Dean shuffles even closer, thumb rubbing circles over Sam's skin. "Holy shit. That's..."

"Y-yeah..." Sam manages to murmur. 

They stand together like that for longer than they probably should, but neither of them seems to be in any hurry to move. 

"I th-thought..." Sam has to clear his throat and try again. "I thought maybe it was all just in my head, you know? It scared the sh-shit out of me that I hadn't felt her yet. Th-thought that something was wrong, but she's really there."

"Yeah, she is," Dean's tone is hushed and reverent and tender and Sam just really wants to kiss him. 

The tickling sensation eventually slows to nothing and it's still a few minutes before either of them can move. 

"Wow," Dean whispers. 

"Yeah," Sam breathes. 

"You boys alright?"

They both jolt at the woman who had at some point ended up on their right. 

Sam steps back, but it feels like peeling off a section of his skin. "Must be just a little indigestion."

The woman nods and suggests, "Antacids are a few aisles over."

Sam thanks her and Dean maneuvers the cart through the rest of the store, but they're both overwhelmingly distracted and Dean has to return later in the evening for the ingredients he forgets to pick up for their dinner. 

Despite the marginal inconvenience, they both laugh about it over the casserole Dean makes. 

***

After that, Sam's convinced she's taking up tap dancing. 

She shifts and wiggles and shuffles and flitters pretty much on a daily basis and once Dean asks him what the stupid smile on his face means, he demands Sam let him feel every time it happens. 

So it becomes a typical occurrence to have his brother's hands on his stomach throughout the day whenever they're together. Nine times out of ten, Sam places it there himself. 

They ask for tables instead of booths when they go out to dinner, so Sam can sit close enough to get Dean's palm on his abdomen. 

Dean starts driving with one hand so his right one is free for whenever she decides to move around. 

Dean sleeps with his fingers grazing the bump on Sam's stomach, in part not to miss anything and in part warm protection. 

It becomes completely involuntary once Sam senses the initial ripple to just reach for Dean without really thinking. 

And every single time, regardless of what either of them are doing, they inhale at the same time and smile. 

Every. 

Single. 

Time. 

Throughout the years they've been told they were too close for brothers. They would get strange looks. Everyone would assume they weren't related and instead were a couple. 

And while there were moments when they weren't on the same page, when they veered from who they really are, they still came back to each other. 

But never has Sam ever felt more connected to his brother than now. Dean's like of an extension of himself, he's literally a part of Sam now and it's given the two of them a connection the likes of which they've never really experienced before. 

It's amazing and humbling and just so very, very right. 

**

Dean has a Tuesday off a few weeks later and Sam isn't out of bed until lunch time. It's decadent and self-indulgent and feels really good after a lifetime of being up before the sun most days and pulling up stakes to leave a motel. 

His bladder makes him move. Otherwise he would likely have stayed in bed as long as his brother would have allowed. 

It's just his belly's getting more rounded and he's lethargic most days and he wants to just stretch and curl up in their bed and get some rest while his body goes through all these insane changes. 

Instead, he pees and stumbles out of the bathroom to find loaded club sandwiches still warm from the toaster on the table and Dean crunching on something behind a newspaper. 

It's so domestic Sam has to stop and just breathe for a minute. 

He must stand on the threshold to the kitchen longer than he realizes because the corner of the paper dips down and Dean's eyebrow pops up and he says, "You okay there, sleeping beauty?"

Sam can see strands of his bangs in his eyes and knows the rest of the mop on his head has got to look about as bedraggled as it feels, but he smiles at his brother's tone. 

"M'fine," Sam tells him while taking a seat and reaching for a thick sandwich. 

It's the perfect mixture of meat, fresh tomato, lettuce, mayo and bacon -- and the bacon is always crisp, not soggy like some diners Sam's been in. Sam's never sure how Dean manages to keep the bread from getting limp, but even the piece in the middle still crunches. 

Sam makes a noise of deep contentment and satiation and Dean mumbles, "Good?" from behind the news. 

The next bite Sam takes is too big for words to fit around so he grunts what he hopes is an affirmative sound and continues to chew. 

He's into his second sandwich when he sees the pickle jar on the table -- Claussen, his favorite -- and his mouth starts to water. 

Instead of pulling out a pickle, though, some instinct has him twisting off the cap and taking a sip of the juice and God, it's damn near the best thing he's ever tasted. 

He slurps three more swigs and wonders why in the world he'd never tried this before. The salty brine hits his tongue and stomach and it's the perfect compliment to the sandwich. 

He's wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and wondering how bad it would be to drain the jar in one go when he looks up and finds Dean staring in absolute horror from across the table. 

"What?" Sam asks.

"The hell are you doing?" Dean demands, paper forgotten in his lap. 

Sam shrugs. "Just wanted to try it. It's really good."

Dean shakes his head. "Pickle juice cannot be good for you, Sammy."

"But it tastes awesome," Sam insists around another gulp. 

Dean's mouth turns down and his nose crinkles up and he asks, "Just don't drink the whole thing."

Sam doesn't voice his disappointment out loud. 

**

The pickle juice incident pales in comparison to the night Dean comes home to find Sam on the couch with a tub of ice cream in his lap. 

Sam really doesn't stop to think, he's just so blown away by how good it tastes, that he scoops up a spoonful and says, "You gotta try this" as Dean passes through the living room. 

Dean opens his mouth and takes a bite and there's a second of anticipatory silence where Sam watches his brother, completely certain he'll rave about the combination, but in the next blink, Dean just about turns green and races for the sink where he coughs and spits and from the sounds of it comes pretty close to throwing up. 

He's got a dishtowel to his mouth when he walks back into the living room and asks, "The fuck is the matter with you?"

Sam's aghast. Seriously. "You don't like it?"

"You're fucking with me now, aren't you?" Dean practically growls. 

"No," Sam attests, truly taken aback that he brother can't get how good this is. "I can't believe you don't like it."

"What did you put in it?" Dean wants to know. 

"Tuna fish," Sam tells him. 

Dean coughs again and wipes his mouth. "That's what I was afraid that taste was. Jesus, Sam. These cravings of yours are really out of left field. How can you eat that?"

To prove that his brother's palate may be off, Sam takes a heaping spoonful and stuffs his mouth. The salty/sweet flavor of the tuna and the pumpkin ice cream make him groan in satisfaction. "You're not gonna put it on the menu?"

Dean rolls his eyes, "Gonna pass on that one."

Sam shakes his head, "Too bad. Sleepy Eye's really missing out."

That's apparently the end of the conversation because Dean gives him one last dire look and stomps into the kitchen to "wash his mouth out with some whiskey," which Sam really thinks is more than a little melodramatic. 

**

Sam wakes up on a Thursday after Dean has already left for the breakfast shift at work and despite the sunshine and the warm fall weather, Sam's completely convinced this will never work. 

They can't care for a baby. They have no experience. They have no point of reference in their lives at all. 

Hell, they've never even really been around children, shapeshifter baby and Dean's year with Lisa and Ben notwithstanding. 

It's utter lunacy to think they could pull this off. 

And it's not like it's a hunt. It's not something that if they just put their heads together and make every effort they can to know what they're getting into and keep their wits about them, they'll pull through. 

This isn't a there and done thing. This is eighteen-plus years. This is molding a human life. 

It's not only being responsible for feeding and cleaning and keeping the baby breathing; it's about teaching and nurturing and giving her a stable foundation to become a well-rounded, functional adult. 

And when Sam sits up in bed, he absolutely can't breathe. 

He's practically gasping for air because they are well beyond the point of no return with this and they are in so far over their heads, there's no way they can raise a child. 

Sam kicks his way out of the covers haphazardly and reaches for his sneakers. He's gotta talk to Dean, see if they can downshift this whole thing, figure out a way to give their daughter the best life possible, even if it's not with them. 

The thought makes his heart almost stop in his chest, but he knows he's gotta do what's right.

The diner is a short bus trip through the city and Sam struggles to keep his tears at bay through every block. 

When the bell over the door announces his presence with a cheery jingle, it's only then that he realizes he left the house in nothing more than sweatpants and a t-shirt and without showering, so his hair must look a lot like a wild animal on top of his head. 

Luckily, the baby bump isn't terribly obvious and he just appears slightly chunky. The rest of it gives him a homeless air that clearly has Esther worried when she first sees him standing completely still by the register. 

"Sammy," she coos, reminding him so much of Ellen that he has to physically stop the sob from choking past his throat. "Sweetheart, where's your coat? It's getting a little nippy out there. I swear you boys just need someone to take care of you, don't you?"

Sam somehow manages to nod and croaks, "Is Dean super busy?"

Esther waves a hand across her face and says, "Let me check."

Sam's not sure what Esther tells him, but when Dean comes out of the kitchen, spatula still in hand, looking as though he's about to face down a Wendigo and a shapeshifter and a vampire all at one time, Sam imagines it can't be good. 

"Sammy, what?" Dean whispers, something cheesy and somewhat greasy dripping off the utensil in his hand. 

Without thinking, Sam reaches for his brother's forearm. "Dean, we can't do this. You kn-know that, right?"

Dean blinks, clearly mystified, and says, "What are you talking about?"

Sam inhales roughly and motions with his free hand to his stomach. "You know what, Dean. We really c-can't."

At this, Dean narrows his eyes, puts the spatula -- goop and all -- on the counter and says, "Alright, get back here" and leads Sam through the kitchen to one of the walk-ins where he shuts the door and rounds on him with a "What the fuck are you talking about?"

By now, there's no way Sam can stem the flood of emotions and to his abject horror and mortification, he starts to cry. "How are w-we gonna do this, Dean? Raise a b-baby? Are we crazy? There's no way this will work. We g-gotta figure something else out."

The smell of lettuce and unprepared food makes Sam slightly queasy, which just adds to his insistence and certainty that they really can't do this. He sniffs -- God, he fucking hates to cry because his nose runs and he gets all stuffy and all that mucous multiplies the nausea tenfold. "I want to s-so bad, but it's a baby. A baby, Dean!" 

Dean reaches out and grips both of Sam's shoulders. "Okay, easy, Sammy. Take some deep breaths for me, okay? What the hell have you been doing all day that you got to this point?"

Sam shakes his head, "I just got u-up and realized we can't do this. We'll be r-responsible for another human being. It's ludicrous!"

"Well, at least you can still use your college words, that's a good sign," Dean mumbles under his breath. "You're not that far gone."

Sam frowns and Dean swims in front of him in the second before more tears fall down his cheeks. "You're making fun of me right now? Seriously? This isn't a joke, Dean, you get that, right?"

Dean shakes his head. “I know it’s not a joke, Sammy. I do. You gotta calm down, though.”

Sam flails a little. “I know that, but what about braces?”

That brings Dean to a crashing halt. Yeah, that’s what Sam thought. 

“What?” Dean asks. 

“Braces,” Sam says, his argument clearly done because his brother is frozen in the same terror Sam’s known for the last half hour. 

“Sammy?”

Sam sighs. “Braces, Dean. How will we afford braces?”

“I…” Dean breathes. “What?”

Sam chokes on another round of tears, wanting to shake his idiot brother. “What if she needs braces, Dean. You know how much they cost?”

Dean seems to rattle himself, “Alright. You’re talking about major dental work before she’s even born, Sam. How about we get through the baby teeth first, huh?”

Sam can feel his eye widen. “How can you ignore the fact that she could need braces and we’d have nothing to provide those for her?”

“Braces are gonna be years away, Sam. By then, we’ll have our savings account built up nice and strong, okay?”

Sam sniffs. That kind of makes sense. But. “But how are we gonna do this? You know we’ll be shaping another human being, right? We’re responsible for her.”

At this Dean smiles. “Yeah, I get that. Didn’t do too bad with you, did I?”

And suddenly, all the terror and heart-pounding fear just drains away between one breath and the next. Because Sam realizes with Dean here -- Dean, his brother, who’s always good with the kids and has an affinity for handling them -- they might actually have a shot at this. 

He exhales a little roughly, but concedes, “Yeah, you really did.”

Dean cups Sam’s cheeks. “Okay, then. Freak out over?”

Sam nods, connects their foreheads and just breathes for a little bit. When he pulls back and actually gets a look at their surroundings, he has to ask, “You guys have any pickles back here?”

Dean kisses Sam’s chin and steps away with a, “No. Jesus, Sam, no more pickle juice.”

Sam’s eyeing the shelves. “How about guacamole?”

Dean cringes, “I don't even want to know what you want to put that on, do i?”

Sam contemplates it for a minute and suggests, "A Cheese Whiz sandwich. Yeah. Guacamole and Cheese Whiz. You got any Cheese Whiz?” 

Dean gags, “My stomach is actually crying for yours right now, you know that, right?”

Sadly, Sam doesn’t get his Cheese Whiz sandwich, but the awesome grilled cheese Dean makes him comes damn close. And if he dips it in some guacamole when Dean’s not looking, well, he’s pretty sure Esther will keep his secret. 

**

Sam doesn't realize how dry the skin on his stomach is until Dean says, "Dude, you're getting flakes all over the couch."

Sam glances down to his bared belly -- he's got his shirt pulled up over the huge expansive bulge and he's been scratching, mostly without even knowing, at the stretched-out skin. 

It just feels so freakin' good to itch it, he didn't realize it was peeling off like dandruff and sprinkling onto the cushions between his wide-spread knees. 

"Crap," he murmurs, and pulls his hand away, but the prickling sensation is back a second later. It's gonna drive him crazy if he can't scratch. 

"Dean, it's really itchy," Sam says while squirming on the couch in an attempt not to peel off more of his flaky, swelled skin. 

"Hang on," Dean replies, as he hops off the sofa and heads into the bedroom. 

He's back moments later with a big bottle of lotion. "Here, we gotta clear up that dry skin of yours."

It's amazing, the sensation of the cream on his scaly stomach and he sighs while he slumps back against the cushions and lets Dean administer the healing balm. 

"Better?" his brother asks. 

"God, yes," Sam breathes. "Can you keep going?"

Dean grins. "Don't know that I signed up to be a lady's maid here, Sammy."

Sam pushes his lower lip out in a pout that always worked when they were kids. "But you're soooo good at it."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Alright, brat. Put away the lip. I'll tend to your gross alligator skin."

Sam chuckles, but rubs his hand along Dean's arm. 

Getting lotion on Sam's belly becomes a nightly ritual after that. 

And Sam suspects it calms all three of them. 

**

Sam's surprised how much is visible on the sonogram at seven months. 

Dr. Robert moves the instrument around on his stomach, the KY slippery on his skin, and he watches his daughter take shape on the screen. 

It's as breath-taking as it is enchanting.

"We gotta talk labor, boys," Dr. Robert says apropos of nothing. 

Sam glances away from the ultrasound and sees Dean's face actually scrunch comically. 

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Dr. Robert says. "No one really wants to, but there are certain things you need to know."

This puts Dean on alert and he gets suddenly serious. 

Dr. Robert turns his strangely intense attention to Sam and Sam squirms a little. "Here's the thing, when you hit labor, trust me, you'll know it. I'm not an expert here, but I've seen enough to know there's no natural delivery possible. C-section's the only option."

Sam's stomach clenches and he has to clear his clogged throat to speak, "H-have you done that before?"

Dr. Robert shrugs. "One or two. There's no anatomy book for this, Sam, so the issue becomes figuring out exactly where your uterus lies and making the incision so as not to actually cut the kid."

Sam can actually feel the blood drain from his face. 

Dr. Robert waves the expression away. "Hey, I know I'm unconventional, but that doesn't mean I don't know what I'm doing. I do have a medical degree and this ain't a chop shop. I've got good equipment, you know."

Sam nods, but the sick feeling remains. 

"My point is," Dr. Robert emphasizes, "Once the labor starts, get here. Your body's gonna wanna push the kid out, but I can promise you, you can't. Don't fuck around with this guys. Just get here. Got me?"

Dean answer for them. "Understood, doc. We won't mess around with this."

"Since we're talking about the day," Dr. Robert continues. "You're gonna need to plan a little. You'll need formula. I know you said your chest is a little sensitive, Sam, but there's no way you can feed her. You just have to look for infant formula and bring some with you. Got it?"

They both nod.

Dr. Robert seems convinced they heard him and looks back at the screen. "She's developing nicely. I assume you're taking everything I prescribed for you."

Sam's starting to feel like a bobble head. 

"Good. At this point, it's just a matter of resting up for the big day. Make sure you don't do too much and just take the time to be a sloth. Sound good?"

It sounds insanely boring, but when Sam sees the little human on the screen, he knows he's not doing it for himself. 

"I'll make sure he doesn't do anything," Dean assures in his toughest dad voice. 

Sam can't help but grin. It goes against a lot of what Sam fought against most of his life, but he kind of likes Dean's caveman act. 

Sometimes. 

***

Dean insists on swinging by the mall after the appointment and it still boggles Sam's mind that this is their life now. Dean used to avoid malls like the plague unless he was looking for a hook up. 

Now he heads straight for the baby apparel store and shockingly, addresses the clerk behind the counter by name. 

She responds with, "How are you, Dean?"

"Can't complain," his brother replies and moves to -- of all places -- the book section. 

Sam waddles behind, trying not to gape and having little success. 

"Close your mouth, Sammy, you're gonna catch flies," Dean murmurs while browsing the selection as though he's looking for something specific. "I like to stop by here sometimes. So what?"

Sam holds up his hands in a placating manner and trails Dean while he searches. 

His jaw drops open a second time when his brother grabs a book on lamaze, complete with DVD and proclaims, "Here it is."

"Dean, I'm not really gonna go through labor, you know."

"Yeah, I know, but Allison says lamaze really helps you cope with the pain and the breathing exercises calm you."

Sam wants to ask who the hell Allison is, but there are more pressing matters at hand. "I've coped with pain all my life Dean, come on."

Dean gives Sam that mildly irritated look. "Yeah, our coping mechanisms have been booze and pills. You can't do that now."

"Those are your coping mechanisms, not mine," Sam insists. 

Dean huffs, "Fine, but this is gonna be something you've never experienced before and lamaze has helped a lot of women. I think you should at least take a look."

It's so foreign when Dean uses logic and sense that Sam finds himself agreeing without really thinking. 

Unfortunately, that means from that evening on, Sam receives daily recitations from the book and has to sit through the DVD twice. 

Although both times he has his brother curled up beside him taking notes, so it's really not all bad. 

**

Dean has amazing hands. 

Sam has known this for most of his existence and in ways a brother definitely shouldn't but at the moment, Dean's hands are as close to nirvana as Sam is likely to get and it has nothing to do with sex. 

Dean's palms perfectly span Sam's lower back and the rhythmic digging and rubbing of his thumbs into Sam's weary muscles and around his spine make him moan like he's taking his first dick.

“You sound like you’re getting fucked," Dean murmurs against the back of Sam's neck. 

"Can't help it," Sam groans. "You're too good at this."

They're sitting up on the couch. No way can Sam lie on his stomach with his belly as huge as it is and Dean claims Sam on his side won't allow for true and total access. 

Sam's a bit surprised Dean was willing to do this for him, although with all that's happened and as vigorously as Dean has embraced this life, he likely shouldn't be. 

Sam hadn't even been complaining, just walking into the living room with both hands on his lower back to try to give himself a little relief and Dean must have noticed. 

He dragged him onto the couch a few minutes later. 

Sam drops his head back on his neck and stares at the ceiling as waves of relief shimmy up his shoulders and around his hips. 

"Y'should open a massage parlor for pregnant women," Sam muses like he's drunk. 

And with the endorphins being released, he's probably as close to inebriation as he's been in months. 

Dean chuckles into Sam's hair. "Not exactly the kind of massage parlor I had in mind."

Sam's laugh is more like a giggle than he's willing to admit. "Perv."

"Self-proclaimed." Dean agrees. 

They remain sitting together until Sam's entire body morphs into a pile of goo and he can't sit upright anymore. 

Slumped against Dean's chest, Sam hears his brother whisper, "Better?"

"Can't reply," Sam murmurs along Dean's chin. "Rendered immobile from massage."

Dean huffs a laugh into Sam's hair and wiggles off the couch. 

Sam falls back against the cushions, feeling better than he has in weeks -- limber, loose and pliable. He thinks their little girl mirrors Sam's experience because she's quiet and in a position that's remarkably comfortable considering she's squishing most of his internal organs. 

"You're good to me, Dean," Sam says. "Y'always have been. Have I ever told you that? Like, ever?"

Dean's in the kitchen working on dinner and the soft clanking of the pots and pans soothes Sam almost as much as the massage because it tells him Dean is here and rooted in the apartment and them and their family. 

Dean pokes his head out only long enough to quip, "You sure you didn't smoke dope or something?"

Sam gurgles a laugh. "Y'know I didn't. You could always smell it. Nose like a hawk. B'sides I'd never do that to her."

"Yeah, I know you wouldn't, Sammy."

Sam's eyes droop a little, drifting on the sensation of well-being and satisfaction and he stretches his arms over his head. "Always took care of me, no matter what. Y'were more of a father to me than dad ever was."

Sam sighs, in memory, in repletion. "Know sometimes I didn't show it when I was a kid," he exhales, "hell, even when I was older, but I've known it every day. How much you do for me."

Sleep beckons and Sam caves to its pull, but not before he mumbles, "Love you so fucking much it scares me sometimes. Never know how to live without you. Don't know what the little girl and I would have done if you'd have left. M'so fucking lucky..."

By the time he's unconscious, he's not aware he was still talking. 

**

When Dean gets in from work the next night, he presents Sam with something called a sacral belt. 

"It goes around your waist and helps support the weight of your belly," Dean explains, like he's a salesman in a store that caters to expectant mothers. 

Sam's doubtful. He's not sure it's meant for men -- not that there's anything on the market for his situation, but he thinks with his narrow hips there's no way it could actually work for him. 

Surprisingly when he tries it on, he finds it does take some of the pressure off his lower back and allows his stomach to feel supported at the same time. 

He's impressed and he tells his brother as much. Dean, of course, beams with a look of pride he only gets when he's truly praised for his successes. 

Sam wears the belt under his clothes as often as he can. 

**

Two days later Sam craves a drippy, sloppy, greasy cheeseburger and he's convinced if he doesn't have one, it's very likely the apocalypse will begin again and quite frankly, he just doesn't have time for that. 

So he cinches his belt up tight around his belly, finds the baggiest clothes and jacket he has and struggles to not waddle on his way to the bus stop. 

He's only marginally successful.

He thinks his joints may actually be shifting because for some reason he feels more bowlegged -- more like Dean -- when he walks. 

He shrugs it off as he enters the diner, trying to hunch in on himself as much as possible so that none of the regulars notice his gait or his weight gain. 

He manages to tuck himself into a seat at the counter before anyone really sees him and thankfully it's Grace who has the afternoon shift. She's not nearly as perceptive as Esther. 

In fact, all she gives him in acknowledgment is a wink and menu as she passes by. Sam tries to tell her he already knows exactly what he wants, but she's too quick to get a word in. 

He sighs and leans back a bit and that's when he sees it. 

Dean's at the far end of the counter -- not at his usual station behind the grill -- and he's talking to someone. 

A male someone. 

A lithe, slim, attractive male someone. Whose hipbones are practically shredding the waist of his jeans. 

And they're laughing. 

Dean's doing that thing where he tosses his head back and his smile is wide and his eyes are glimmering a bright green and he hasn't even detected Sam's presence and damn if it all doesn't hit Sam right in the chest as he compares himself to this well-put-together guy who commands every bit of Dean's attention, whoever the fuck he is. 

Sam hasn't showered. It's pretty gross and his hair feels thick and heavy and it's gotta look relatively awful after being out in the wind. 

His legs are spread wide under the counter to abide his huge stomach and he knows he's gained weight in more places than just his belly. He hasn't seen his own hipbones in weeks. Hell, his ankles are starting to look like ham hocks growing out of his calves. 

He's giant and fat and pathetic and he can't believe Dean even admits they know each other. 

Not when he can have Mister Suave-and-Debonair at the counter. 

Grace steps in front of him with a grin and says, "Hey Sam. You know what you want?"

Yeah, that dude's perfectly sculpted biceps run through a tree shredder. 

He just manages not to voice the thought out loud. Instead, he grits his teeth a little and says, emphatic enough to carry, "Actually, Gracie, since I've been sitting here, I'm thinking I might try the place across the street."

Grace blinks, obviously uncertain how to take his brisk manner, but before she can say anything, Dean looks up -- Sam hopes it's from the sound of his voice -- and smiles. 

It's not the same wide smile he gave the hot guy at the counter. 

Dean gestures to the dude to hang on and takes the steps necessary to put himself in line with Sam. "Heya Sammy. You come down for some vittles?"

Sam can't stop the anger from pushing up out of his chest and into his throat. "Nah. Changed my mind. I've heard some good stuff about the mom and pop across the street." 

Sam attempts a graceful exit, but it's more ungainly than anything. 

He's about three feet down the sidewalk when Dean rushes up behind him with an incensed, "Dude, what the hell?"

Sam rounds on him and fires off with, "I could ask you the same thing."

Dean's ire turns to confusion. "I seriously don't know what you're talking about."

Sam huffs, "I'm sure you don't. You're too dazzled by the hot guy you were flirting with to even know I was there."

Dean looks baffled. "Hot guy?"

Sam crosses his arms, but it only accents the colossal protrusion of his belly, so he drops them to his side and balls his fists instead, "Oh don't play dumb. You know what I'm talking about. He's all thin and cool and you were laughing and I'm all..." he glances down to his oversized shirt and pants and groans, "this. And I know you miss being with someone hot. You have to. You're Dean Winchester. Banging hot people was your claim to fame."

"Sam--"

"And being stuck with me...with this grossness...is totally not you. S'why you were so captivated by him. Why don't you just say it?" Sam's seriously on a roll now. 

Dean inhales pointedly. "Because it's not true."

"Oh, bullshit. You were all swooning and everything."

Dean's laugh is like gasoline on a fire. 

"Look, if you wanna end this, you should just say it. We can figure something out with the b-baby," and that's what finally gets Sam to stop. Hearing the words spoken out loud like that clogs his throat and he chokes a little on his next breath. 

Dean's the one who actually has his arms crossed at this point and he's purposefully quiet for the span of a half a minute before asking, "Are you done?"

"Are you?" Sam wants to know, even though his voice wobbles. 

Dean huffs and moves his hands to his hips. "You gonna listen if I tell you what's going on?"

Sam bites his lower lip, but nods. 

"The dude was just talking cooking stuff. He's thinking about starting up a catering business with his wife," the emphasis is not lost on Sam. "And we were talking ideas. He's got a decent sense of humor. Yes he's attractive--"

Sam bristles and his cheeks flame. 

Dean holds up a hand "But if you must know since we're discussing this no one -- anywhere -- holds a candle to you."

Sam rolls his eyes and outright scoffs at that one. He knows how cumbersome and heavy he is -- his back tells him every day, sacral belt or not. 

"I know the hormones are telling you differently but the deal is you glow. For real. Esther mentioned it to me and so did Grace. I thought it was all in my head until they said something, but you do look different. You've got a spark, Sammy, and it's something to see. Way better than Mister All Put Together."

Sam's chest shimmers at the words and all that worry and worthless feeling seems to melt away. "You mean it?" 

"You wanna ask Grace?" Dean quips. "'Cause we've talked about it. At length."

Sam would have thought it would take a lot for Dean to admit something like that but he's standing on the sidewalk, still wearing an apron and a hairnet and sauces from the earlier lunch hour on his pants and he seems certain, confident, like he not only fully believes what he's saying but he has no qualms about expressing it. 

Sam looks down to his giant sweatshirt and smiles. "No. I don't have to ask Grace."

Dean nods. "You don't have to ask her but you might need to apologize."

Sam inhales. "Yeah. I should. To both of you."

Dean dismisses that with a wave. "Don't worry about me. I know it's the hormones. We just gotta figure out what to say to Gracie."

By the time Sam's eating his cheeseburger, Grace is back to her grinning, flirting self so Sam thinks the story worked pretty well. 

***

Dean tosses a book on the kitchen table with a gruff page two thirty four. 

Sam looks up from his oatmeal and glances down at the old volume. "Where'd you get that?"

“Found it in some of Bobby’s stuff,” Dean’s voice is hushed in what Sam can only imagine is reverence and respect. 

Sam acknowledges the answer with a shift of his head. “What’s on page two thirty four?”

“A spell performed at a baby’s birth. It’ll keep the baby off any demon or angel radar. Forever. Almost like she doesn’t even exist for them.”

Sam can feel his eyebrows crawl into his hairline. “Really?”

Dean nods. “I know it sounds paranoid, but…”

Sam disagrees, “Not at all. Not for us.” He flips through the books and skims the incantation. It’s more than do-able. Nothing more complicated than some Latin. “Dean, this is...perfect, actually.”

Dean lights up like the sun in the morning. “Yeah?”

“Hell yeah,” Sam smiles. “I can’t believe you found this. How long did it take you?”

Dean shrugs like it’s no big deal, but Sam knows better. “Not that long.”

“Uh huh,” Sam concedes with doubt. 

Sam takes another bite of oatmeal and after he finishes chewing, he glances back at his brother. “This is seriously amazing, Dean. And exactly what we need to protect her. Thank you.”

Dean’s eyes get suspiciously bright before he coughs a little and grunts, “Alright, Samantha, no need to get mushy about it,” before heading back out of the kitchen. 

Sam has trouble eating the rest of his breakfast around the stupid smile on his face. 

***

By Friday night, Sam's so fucking horny he almost can't see straight, but he's also a huge, bloated whale in the middle of the bed and getting up to find Dean may be too herculean of a task. 

There's just something about the heavy feel in his belly and the lethargy that he can't seem to shake that's made him oddly crave a mind-blowing orgasm. 

So he hollers, "Dean! C'mere!"

There may have been a bit too much urgency in his voice if the speed in which Dean reaches the bedroom is any indication. 

Dean stops in his tracks, more than likely by the picture Sam makes -- he's naked, spread out on the covers, stomach protruding even higher than his leaking, hard cock and God, he just wants fucked and can't seem to stop stroking his dick.

Sam holds out his free hand and groans, "C'mere. Need you to fuck me."

Dean shakes his head, expression a jumble of arousal and want and hesitation and aversion. "No way, Sammy. No way. I can't do it."

Sam whines, "Just come help me then."

Dean's steps are tentative, like Sam's come kind of brute who's gonna ravish him -- if he was even capable of it. 

Sam hiccups a soft sound as the ladder of his fingers makes another pass over the soaking head of his dick. "Dean, seriously. I can't even move right now. What the hell am I gonna do to you that you can't get away from, huh?"

Logic. Obviously the way to go. Especially considering it gets Dean closer to the bed. 

And when Dean strokes a single finger up the stretched skin over Sam's belly, fireworks shimmy up Sam's spine and his nipples tighten in a rush. "Yeah," he whispers. "Fuck." 

It's instinctive for Sam to reach for his brother and his hand goes right for Dean's crotch, dick thickening inside his jeans. Sam's sure his grin is lecherous, "Seems like part of you isn't too grossed out by this."

"Sammy, c'mon," Dean pouts. "M'not grossed out. I just don't wanna hurt her."

"You won't," Sam assures around a gasp. "Dr. Robert told me you won't."

Dean actually steps backward at that and Sam drops his hand. "You talked to doc about this? About sex?"

Sam bites his bottom lip. "Maybe..."

"Sammy, please tell me you're kidding."

"Dean, he's a doctor, this can't be the first time he's talked about sex with a patient."

"He knows we're brothers, for God sake," Dean flails.

"Yeah, and I'm pretty sure he knows this is your kid, too, so seriously, he already gets what's happening. Unless he thinks she's the next messiah or something. C'mon, Dean."

Sam's really tired of the talking, so he reaches for his brother again, but Dean dances out of the way and says, "I just don't think I can do it."

"How about I fuck you then?"

Dean tries to hide it, Sam can tell, but that little glimmer lights up his green eyes and Sam knows he's got him and Christ, just the thought of sliding into Dean's slick, wet heat almost makes Sam come before he's ready. "Mmmmm, yeah. C'mere. I won't even move a muscle."

Dean's mouth twitches and somehow, some deity somewhere must be looking out for pregnant brothers because Dean comes to a mental decision Sam's not privy to and starts stripping his jeans and t-shirt. 

Sam basically melts when this becomes a done deal and commands, "Hurry."

Dean tosses his shirt across the room and gives Sam a pointed look before grabbing the lube and crawling onto the bed between Sam's legs. "Sammy, seriously, how the hell are we gonna do this?" Dean asks around a gesture that manages to incorporate both Sam's dick and belly. 

"Just," Sam grunts. "Here."

Somehow Sam manages to arrange them so that he's still flat on his back and Dean's legs are draped across Sam's waist without putting any pressure on his stomach.

It's different, but also really, really perfect because Dean leans back on his hands so that his ass is tilted up and Sam pushes his dick down even though he really can't see what's happening over his belly and Dean's halfway through lubing up that tight hole Sam wants so bad he's almost salivating when his brother looks up and says, "I should get a condom."

Sam shakes his head vigorously on the pillow. "No. No you should not." He gasps when Dean transfers his wet fingers to Sam's cock and slathers lube up and down the length of it. "You should just...come here. Just c'mon, Dean."

"Sammy, seriously," Dean grits out. "One of us should be reasonable here."

"I'm perfectly reasonable," Sam tries. "I'm reasonably asking you to get that perfect ass on my dick right the fuck now."

Dean's eyes shutter -- dirty talk always does it -- and mindlessly positions himself so that he can do exactly what Sam just said and jesusfuckingchrist when all of that slippery warmth engulfs his cock in one long go, taking every single inch, it rockets this whole thing nearly to the breaking point. 

"Shit, baby," Sam gurgles, squirming as much as he can. "You gotta...fuck, you gotta get there. This is...goddamn, this is too fucking hot."

Dean has not only truly amazing stamina, but he's also insanely flexible and he proves it by somehow putting his weight between his hands and his feet and in an odd crab-like position starts to circle and undulate against Sam's crotch. 

"Nnngggh, S-Sammy."

"You are so fucking good at this," Sam moans. "Jesus, Dean, I love the hell out of you."

Dean's balls are resting on Sam's bulging belly and his cock is leaking all down the stretched out, itchy skin and it should be fucked up and weird, but instead it's the hottest damn thing Sam's ever been a part of and it doesn't take long at all -- for either of them -- before there's sweat and hot skin and heavy breathing and Sam can't stop his orgasm for love or money. 

Thankfully, Dean's throwing his head back and trembling apart almost at the exact same time -- without even touching his dic -- covering Sam's stomach in white strips and shouting, fuck Sammy fuck over and over again. 

It takes a while for Dean to fall out of the grip of his orgasm and when he does, he's careful to disconnect them and tumble backwards, avoiding Sam's stomach all together. 

They're both gasping for breath and the ceiling swims a little in Sam's vision, but damn, he feels really fucking good. Loose, relaxed (despite his thundering heart), sated. 

"God, I needed that," he sighs. 

Dean might reply, but Sam can't be sure. All he can see are his brother's knees and the funny noise from the bottom of the bed really could have been anything. 

Sam thinks they both doze for a bit before the baby gets a good kick in to his bladder and he's gotta pee. 

He untangles their legs and lurches his way off the bed to the bathroom. By the time he gets back, Dean's under the covers on his side completely unconscious. 

Sam chuckles a little to himself, shuts of the light and crawls in next to his brother. 

He's pretty sure Dean's totally asleep, but he reaches out and tucks his hand against Sam's belly anyway. 

Sam slips into sleep with a goofy grin on his face. 

**

It’s a simple thing. He’s going to get the mail. That’s all. He wants to put on his sneakers so he can go get the mail. 

The problem? 

He can’t tie his shoes. 

He literally can’t lean down and tie his shoes. 

He’s sitting on the couch in the living room and he’s trying -- he’s seriously trying -- to bend down and reach his shoelaces. 

They’re right there. 

If he attempts to walk with them gaping open like this, he knows he’ll trip on the dangling thread. He will. It only stands to reason. 

He just has to make a loop and tie them. That’s all. 

But no matter how hard he leans forward or even if he holds his breath, he can’t do it. 

He can’t reach them. 

He can’t get beyond his stomach. 

Figuring that he can pull one shoe up to his knee and work from there doesn’t get the job done either. He’s yanking on the material of his sweatpants, but nothing he does gets his shoes any closer to his hands. 

It’s pathetic. He’s so fucking fat. And useless. 

His eyes burn and his nose tingles and he can’t help it, the tears just start to fall. 

That’s how Dean finds him two minutes later. 

“Sammy?” Dean’s kneeling on the floor in a second. “What wrong?”

It takes Sam two attempts to get out, “I can’t tie my shoes.”

Dean releases the breath he was holding in one swoop. 

Sam chokes, “I just w-wanted to get the m-mail and I can’t even do that.”

“Okay,” Dean exhales. “Let’s get them tied for you.”

His brother actually laces his sneakers. Like he did when they were little. And it doesn’t help the lousy, worthless feeling Sam’s got going on. He slumps back against the couch, stomach jutting out so high he can’t even see Dean’s head anymore. 

“M’so fucking gross,” Sam whines. “Look at me. Look at this.” He flails his hands around his huge belly just as Dean finishes up and sits next to Sam’s prone form on the couch. 

“This,” Dean says with a palm on Sam’s abdomen, “is awesome. This is our little girl, who by all rights and as near as anyone can tell is healthy as a horse, and you’re the one who’s making that happen. You get that, right? That you’re growing a human being in there? Something that shouldn’t really be possible, but you’re not only doing it, you’re kicking ass at it. It’s not gross.”

Now he feels far more valuable, but he still can’t stop the tears. 

“Alright,” Dean chuckles and he scoops Sam’s shoulder up as much as possible and holds on for an undetermined amount of time. 

**

Sam literally can’t sit still through one Modern Family episode no matter how much he wants to. The baby’s moving around like she’s trying out for Riverdance or something. 

Dean notices at the first commercial. “You okay?”

Sam sighs and without explanation says, “You know what it’s like? It’s like having a bag of snakes in your belly. Look,” he points at his stomach and even with a shirt on, it's clear the amount of movement that's happening inside. 

Dean puts a hand over the highest spot and asks, “How long has she been like that?”

Sam shrugs. “Last half hour maybe.”

“You didn’t have any caffeine did you?” Dean asks in the voice that precedes a lecture. 

“No, I didn’t have any caffeine, Dean. She’s just putting on a show, that’s all.”

Dean leans down to Sam’s belly, “Your dad’s are gonna be in the front row, baby girl.”

Sam gasps at the strength of the next kick. 

Dean looks up with a wondrous expression. 

Sam nods, “Yeah, she always seems to know when it’s you.”

“Seriously?” Dean whispers. 

Sam nods. 

They both miss the rest of Modern Family as Dean amazingly talks their daughter to a more restful state inside Sam’s belly. 

**

It's a random Wednesday morning and Sam's stretched out on the couch, listening to Drew Carey tell the next contestant to spin the wheel. His lower back is all but throbbing with a consistent beat and his ankles are swollen so big he doubts he'll ever be able to distinguish the bone again. 

He sighs and rubs his incredibly distended belly.

His daughter kicks once against his hand and somehow bumps into his stomach. 

He's so bulky and cumbersome he can't remember what it was like to sit normally. Or sleep normally. Or really rest that much at all. 

One more shift from inside and now he's gotta pee. Again. 

He groans, "Baby girl, you're killing me today. What's up with that? Huh?"

Despite the discomfort, his voice holds the same warmth it always does when he talks about or to his daughter. 

He adores her without ever having seen her outside of a sonogram. 

Getting up requires ungainly bumbling but his bladder is practically screaming at him. He still, after all these months, has a hard time figuring out this new center of gravity he's got and he has to use the back of the couch and coffee table to stand. 

Once he's upright, he tucks his forearm under his abdomen because he didn't put on his belt today and the weight really is far more obvious without it. 

He makes it halfway down the hall when a breathtaking stab of pain ricochets from his lower back all the way around to his belly button and he gasps out loud and grabs the wall. 

Shit. 

Fuck. 

It feels like his entire lower half is clenched in a band and the pain and the pressure is overwhelming.

He tries to breathe through it, ride the crest of each successive wave, but it's almost too much. Christ, he's had bullet wounds and burns and a knife in the back and none of that prepared him for this. 

He falls to his hands and knees and hisses through his clenched teeth, suddenly stupidly glad Dean had insisted that he read the lamaze stuff. 

God, Dean. He needs his brother to come home. They have to get to Dr. Robert. 

His phone. He's gotta find the phone. 

Miraculously, the crush of pain recedes slightly, allowing him to crawl to the living room and scramble to call his brother. 

Sam just has enough time to slither back to the bathroom to pee before Dean comes crashing through the front door. 

Sam waddles pathetically around the doorjam and asks, "Jesus, did you even stop at any of the lights?"

"Where's your belt?" Dean demands, looking pointedly at Sam's bare stomach. 

"I was just watching TV. Didn't think I needed it."

Dean huffs. "Damn it Sam, it helps your back."

Sam shrugs it off just as he can feel another contraction surge up. "Shit," he moans, squatting just inside the bathroom. 

Fuck, he wants to push. 

Dean's there instantly with a hand on the back of Sam's head, whispering, "Just breathe through it. Breathe."

"Dean," Sam gasps. "I don't think I can keep from p-pushing."

Dean grips a handful of hair. "Well you're gonna."

Sam clenches his teeth and reaches for Dean's other hand, squeezing so hard Dean groans. 

“We gotta get you to the car, Sammy,” Dean says when he can, worry clear in his voice. 

Sam struggles to not push and ride out the pain at the same time. “One…” he wheezes, “one second.”

“We don’t have a lot of extra time. C’mon. Can you stand up straight?”

Sam suspects Dean actually drags him to his feet more than anything he does on his own. “Don’t...don’t forget the...stuff.”

Dean twists out of Sam’s grip, but is back within a few seconds, baby bag slung over his shoulder. 

It’s slow, but they make it to the car. 

The ride to Dr. Robert’s office is quite the opposite. Sam’s clutching the dashboard, both to keep from being tossed from side to side in the Impala and to manage the contractions and not push. He’d tell Dean getting in an accident won’t help the situation, but his brother has such an intense look on his face, Sam knows to keep quiet. 

They stumble together up the stairs and Dr. Robert is waiting for them in the doorway. 

“How long’s it been?” he asks when he sees them. 

Sam has lost all concept of time and is a little surprised when Dean says, “It’s been maybe twenty minutes since he called me.”

Dr. Robert nods, helps Sam onto the table and starts stripping him. Shirt, shoes, socks, pants until he’s down to his boxer briefs and all the while, Sam’s breathing like he’s running a marathon and trying his damndest not to push. 

He’s moved so he’s lying on the table, ass near the bottom and Dr. Robert pushes a blue screen thing over his stomach. 

Sam shakes his head, “No, I wanna see.”

“Sam, this isn’t going to be pretty,” Dr. Robert warns. 

“Doc...I’ve seen a lot worse. Trust...me. I wanna see her when she...comes into the world.”

Something in his expression must be pretty damn convincing because Dr. Robert slides the screen back. Sam relaxes back against the table as much as he’s able and he can feel his heart flailing in his chest and his lungs burning. 

Dr. Robert starts hooking up machines -- blood pressure cuff, heart monitor, all of it. He sees Eva in the corner with a syringe and sudden panic sets in. What if he actually doesn’t get to see her come into the world, blue screen or not? What if after everything, something happens and he never gets to meet her? 

Without thinking, he grabs for Dean, who thankfully is right next to the bed. He can’t keep the tears out of his whisper, “D-Dean…” he huffs through another shock of pain. “Promise me...promise me you’ll love her...no matter what...no matter what happens, kay?”

Dean’s eyes are a fierce green when he says, “Sam, don’t even.”

“I...mean it…” he can’t believe how shocking the spasms have become. “tell her...how I loved her before I even...knew her...okay?”

“Shut up. Shut up, Sam,” Dean’s voice is wrecked. “I’m not telling her any of that because you’ll be there to tell her whatever you want.”

Sam’s only vaguely aware of the fact that he’s being stripped out of his boxer briefs and that iodine is smeared along his belly. 

Sam shakes his head, “You have…you have to promise...me.”

“You’re not going anywhere, Sam,” Dean assures in that growl that has taken down bigger, stronger beings in years past. 

Dr. Robert has him roll to his side to inject the epidural. Sam refused to be knocked completely out, no matter how much the idea of being awake scared him. He doesn’t want to be out of it through the procedure. 

The gripping pain lets up the second the injection hits his blood, but when he goes to wiggle his toes he’s shocked to realize he can’t feel a thing below his ribs. It’s easily the scariest fucking sensation he’s ever known and Dean must get it because he whispers, “You’re okay.”

Sam shakes his head, “I can’t feel my legs.”

“That’s the epidural, Sammy, remember? We looked it up?”

He’s got Dean’s hand tight in his and doesn’t let go even once the incision is made and the suction starts and Sam can feel the odd tugging sensation that they’re actually cutting into him. 

Sam reaches for some measure of calm and rationality, but he has to admit, it’s the strength of Dean’s grip and his brother’s presence beside him that really calm his racing fear.

He can feel the pulling and the odd, barely there movements in his midsection and it’s really not as difficult as he imagine it would be and when the squirming, blood-covered baby is pulled up into the world and lets out a wail, he knows every single second had been worth it. 

**

Eleanor Maryann is born early in the evening and is as healthy, loud and normal as any child could hope to be. 

Sam's more exhausted than he thought the human body capable, but he can't stop smiling as he watches Dean cut the cord and clean her up. 

He knows he's getting stitched up himself, but thanks to the strength of the epidural, he still only feels an odd pulling sensation, so he pays no attention.

Instead, he's only got eyes for Dean and his brother's wearing the most enraptured expression on his face Sam has ever seen. He's softly chanting and Sam knows it's the incantation for the protection spell that Dean memorized months ago. 

Sam's heart beats extra hard in his chest and he has to breathe deeply through it. He suddenly needs both of them closer than they are. 

He makes a small noise and tries to raise his hand, but can't get it much higher than the surgical table. 

Dean looks up, green eyes glowing so warmly, Sam's body flushes in response and he hears Dean whisper, "Let's go see daddy."

There's no way Sam can stop the tear from slipping down his temple into the pillow. 

When Dean steps up to the side of the bed, their daughter in his arms, something so momentous, so fundamental clicks inside him that the rest of the room fades away and the two of them are all Sam sees. 

Dean must feel it too, because he leans forward, completely disregarding the other two people messing with the equipment and says, “Look what we did, Sammy.”

She’s gorgeous. She’s pinkish-red with a scrunched up face and fingers and chin and nose so small Sam’s petrified of doing something wrong, but she’s hands-down the most beautiful human being Sam has ever seen. 

He’s certain, in that moment, that this is what he’d been battling and fighting and struggling through life for. Right here. Right now. 

Bringing his daughter into the world. 

***

Sam's rocking Ellie in his arms while he waits for the coffee to perk and bottle to boil. He loves when she makes the gurgling noises into his neck and her little hands -- God, they're so tiny -- clutch his shirt. 

He bounces lightly on his knees and inhales the baby scent of her head and cannot imagine loving anyone more than he loves her and Dean. 

Speaking of whom, Sam hears his brother race into the bathroom, slam the door and retching starts shortly after. 

Sam frowns. That can't be good. Must be something he ate disagreeing with him. 

Sam wants to go in to help, but figures that's not a good idea with Ellie, so he continues the little hopping and feels the skin of his abdomen jiggle at the motion. 

It's been a month and he's slowly returning to his pre-baby shape with the daily walks he takes using this awesome three-tired baby stroller they found at Target, but it's been a bit of a struggle. 

"You know what you did to daddy's tummy?" he murmurs into the soft, dark fuzz on her head. "Hmm? Do you even care at all?"

Ellie coos at his voice and something primal shivers through Sam. He knows they'll always have that intrinsic connection, but recognizing it anew never fails to take his breath. 

He just starts to hum a One Direction song that he would deny even knowing when Dean stumbles out of the bathroom looking more than a little green.

Sam winces, "Hey. Did that chicken not agree with you last night?"

Dean doesn't answer right away and upon closer inspection, Sam sees indecision and reluctance mixed into the nauseated expression on Dean's face. 

He frowns and shifts Ellie slightly higher on his shoulder, "What?"

Dean's eyes drop to the counter. "Is there coffee?"

"Not yet. You wanna tell me what's going on?"

Ellie moves her head just slightly against Sam's shoulder and he makes a mental note for the baby book he's keeping. He has to make sure she's developing like she should and so far, she's right on target and getting stronger every day. 

At the moment, though, he's more worried about his brother. 

Dean scratches at a non-existent spot on the formica and Sam starts to get a little pissed. "Dean, come on. We can't be keeping shit from each other.”

Dean still doesn't speak, but he does lift his t-shirt over the top of the waistband of his sweatpants. 

Sam's confused. Dean can't want to mess around in the kitchen -- Sam's still gotta feed Ellie and Dean just puked, gross -- but Sam's having trouble figuring out what the hell his brother's doing. 

He knows he's got that stupid expression Dean's always making fun of when he shakes his head. 

Dean sighs laboriously as though Sam's the biggest trial he's ever had to deal with. 

Sam can feel his face sour as he suggests, "You're gonna have to spell it out for me, Dean. I don't do well with charades."

Dean grits his teeth and gives Sam a murderous look, but clears his throat. "How did you..." he coughs, "how did you know when...Ellie was there."

Sam blinks. And looks down at Dean's abdomen. 

Jesus. It does look slightly distended. 

"You're deliberately pushing that out," Sam tries, still swaying with Ellie in his arms. 

Dean shakes his head. 

And brushes the back of his hand over his mouth. 

Because he's just thrown up.

And his stomach is just the slightest bit round. 

Sam's eyes widen. 

Holy fuck. 

"You don't think..."

Dean shrugs. 

The water boils just as Ellie gets restless and starts to whine. 

Sam takes it off the burner one handed and pulls the bottle out to cool a bit, murmuring, "Soon baby girl. Daddy promises."

When he turns back around, Dean's chewing his lower lip. 

"We should see if Dr. Robert has time today."

Dean's entire face pales and Sam steps closer. "Hey, hey. Don't do that. It'll be fine, Dean. You know that." He gently bounces Ellie. "This isn't our first rodeo, you know."

Dean's smile looks a little sick. 

Despite everything -- how they're going to afford two kids, Dean's certain forthcoming nine-month prima donna act, figuring out if Dean can even keep working -- Sam feels a smile start and he can't stop it to save his life. 

He moves that scant inch into Dean's breathing space and brushes the back of his hand down Dean's stomach and his brother gasps just as Sam connects their mouths, even with the sour taste behind Dean’s lips.

Ellie breaks the kiss with a smack to Dean's cheek. 

Sam rubs their noses as he pulls away and chuckles, "Demanding food. She's so your kid."

Dean's mock affronted and cups his palm over his abdomen, "Well this one will probably have stupid hair and correct everyone's grammar."

This one. 

Sam can't believe it. And could never have imagined it. 

But he wouldn't want his life any other way. 

***

Robert Johnathan is born in the middle of an awful heat wave in the summer and Dean bitches the entire time, but Sam's never seen him look more gorgeous. 

This time it's Sam who gets to cut the cord and clean up his son and say the protection spell and it's the most surreal, amazing experience he's ever known. 

When he hands him to Dean, just like with Ellie, something clicks. 

This is them now. 

Their daughter in her car seat that converts to a carrier slept through the whole thing. 

Their son, screaming so loud, even Dr. Robert cringes as he finishes up Dean's stitches. 

Sam smiles and when he makes eye contact with Dean, he knows it's like looking in a mirror. 

The Winchester family. 

Complete. Protected. 

Together. 

~ end


End file.
